


pynk

by panshambles



Series: Minutt for minutt [5]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Mouth Kink if that's a thing (it's a thing), PWP, Shameless Smut, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panshambles/pseuds/panshambles
Summary: AU in which our two beloved characters are genderqueer!Isabelle and trans!Eve, who meet online, and trust only each other with their vulnerabilities.(This was originally posted on the irreplaceable and warm SKAM Comm but I'm sharing it here for anyone who, like me, wants some gender trouble and wlw smut. <3)





	1. boy it's cool, if you got blue

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the most AU thing i've written yet. I wanted to write some wlw smut and talk more about gender presentation and identity, so do forgive me this indulgence.
> 
> Plus, I was inspired by miranhasart's fanart on instagram - https://www.instagram.com/p/Bl3IFHJFK-6/ - and couldn't help myself.
> 
> i know this is quite a departure from the usual fanfic, so i get it if it's not to everyone's taste. (also yes the title is from Janelle Monáe, queen). Speaking of queens, thanks to the exquisite TabithaAnne for reading it through for me <3
> 
> Also, for those of you who've been lovely enough to ask about 'til slutt' and ARWT, don't worry. I'm working on the next chapter of til slutt this weekend (currently at 4k), and after that I'll focus on updating ARWT. thanks so much for all your kind words <3

‘So when’s the date?’ Jora asks.

Isabelle has to laugh. Jora is  _insistent_. Every chance she gets, she asks the same question. Despite the fact that they are currently at after-work drinks and it is neither the time nor the place that Isabelle wants to go into it.

‘Jo,’ she sighs, ‘you already know I’m not meeting her.’

‘ _Issy_ ,’ Jo rebuts, ‘you already know I’m going to insist you try. What’s the worst that could happen? This girl is basically your ultimate dreamboat and you need to  _get on board_.’ The last three words are punctuated by Jo elbowing Isabelle in the ribs.

‘Yeah!’ Mathilde jumps in. ‘She’s hot. Why aren’t you tapping that yet?’

‘ _Mattie_ ,’ Jo hisses, holding her right palm out in a firm ‘stop’ sign. ‘Seriously. Boundaries.’

‘What?’ Mathilde asks, stirring her sex-on-the-beach cocktail with a straw. ‘It’s a fair question.’

Isabelle chooses to ignore her, and compulsively checks her phone to see if Eve’s been in touch. She hasn’t. But Eve also said she wouldn’t message until at least an hour into the party so that Isabelle didn’t have an excuse to avoid mingling. She is sneaky that way.

Soon Isabelle hears Mahirah shout, ‘Hey girls!’ as she walks up to the group, beer in hand.

‘M, we’re trying to get Issy to finally meet her Insta-crush,’ Mathilde explains.

‘Ah, the girl you started messaging through that queer history account?’ Mahirah asks.

Isabelle nods. ‘Their sister account, with the personals ads. I put up one a week before hers appeared.’

‘What’s it called again?’ Jo asks.

‘_ _personals__ ’ Isabelle says. ‘It’s joined to the  _h_e_r_s_t_o_r_y_  account.’

‘What was her ad?’ Mahirah butts in. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked.’

Isabelle smiles softly to herself. Eve’s ad was one of the cutest she’s seen.

> _PAN AND HANDSY. SEEKING FORBIDDEN FRUIT.  
>  Eve, Oslo-based film nerd, trans woman, and entrenched Aquarius _   
>  _looking for another Air sign to transcend patriarchy, gender,_   
>  _and time. Let’s make like 420 and reach new heights._   
>  _Then let’s make like H20 and get each other wet._

‘Holy shit!’ Mahirah laughs. ‘That’s forward!’

Isabelle smiles and shrugs. ‘That’s the point. It’s a personals ad.’

‘What was yours?’ Mathilde asks, too keen and clearly planning on writing her own.

> _HARDER BETTER FASTER QUEERER  
>  26, snapback queen, cuddles & forehead kisses,_   
>  _hardcore sleeper, will make you playlists._   
>  _5’11” so you can wear my hoodies._   
>  _Looking for a girl who is silly, sleepy, always_   
>  _hungry & just as lazy as me._

‘Yeah that’s pretty accurate,’ Jo says smugly as she drinks her beer. Isabelle flips her off.

‘Why haven’t you met yet?’ Mahirah asks. ‘I feel like I’ve missed this whole season of Issy’s love life.’

‘How could you forget the Crisis of Constitution Day?’ Mathilde asks, horrified. ‘When they were gonna dress up in their bunads and drink in Sofienberg park? But then Isabelle backed out last minute and spent the whole day in kollektivet in a spiral.’

Isabelle stares at Mathilde in unmasked disdain. ‘Thanks for that summary. Appreciate it.’

‘Oooh,’ Mahirah says. ‘I remember that. I just forgot the context.’

Before she can get irritated with either of them, Isabelle’s phone  _pings_ with the sound she’s grown to love over the last six months — the tone she’s assigned to Eve’s messages. Every time she hears it now, she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. Her heart is already racing and she hasn’t even taken her phone out of her pocket.

‘Oh-ho!’ Jo cries delightedly. ‘I know that sound, and that face. Show us, show us, show us!’

Isabelle waves them both off. ‘As you just said, Jo, boundaries _._ Now for a completely unrelated reason, I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a minute. Do  **not** follow me.’ She walks backwards away from them, before turning heel and heading directly for the ladies’ bathrooms.

She doesn’t finish closing the stall door before she taps her phone screen to read Eve’s messages.

 

**Eve (7:32pm)**

_hey gorgeous_

_how’s the party?_

 

It’s so sweet, just knowing Eve is looking out for her. She knows Isabelle can get anxious before social events like these, especially because no-one except Jora and Mathilde know that she’s genderqueer. 

 

**Isabelle (7:36pm)**

_it’s alright_

_only one straight man has hit on me thus far_

_fingers crossed that never happens to me, ever again, in my life_

**Eve (7:38pm)**

_who is he? and how dare he go anywhere near my baby_

 

Isabelle blushes from root to tip. She can’t help it. She loves it when Eve gets possessive. 

 

**Isabelle (7:39pm)**

_yknow sometimes I can’t believe I met you_

_and how lucky i am to know you_

 

It’s then that Isabelle remembers Jora’s question. And she fears it as much as desires it. 

What does she have to lose? It’s been six months. Six beautiful months. 

She doesn’t even know what Eve’s voice sounds like, or how tall she really is (though based on her insta pictures, she’s  _tall_ ), or what perfume she might wear, if she wears any. But she’s learned so much else about her, and how safe she makes her feel, and how much she wants her. She  _wants_.

Her thoughts are interrupted by her favourite sound.

 

**Eve (7:40pm)**

_I know what you mean_

_cliché or not, it just feels right_

 

Isabelle rolls her eyes.

 

**Isabelle (7:41pm)**

_you would put it that way_

**Eve (7:41pm)**

_why are you ruining our moment with humour_

**Isabelle (7:42pm)**

_because I actually have an important question to ask_   
_but i’m scared to ask it._

**Eve (7:43pm)**

_i’m not going to judge you, whatever it is._

_take your time <3_

 

Isabelle sits down on the closed toilet lid and takes a deep breath. They’ve talked about this before, but for one reason or another, never followed through. She knows Eve will be up for it. She knows Eve will accept. But she’s still afraid of making the plan a reality. Because what if Eve doesn’t like the reality of Isabelle? Eve’s personals ad said she was pan, so the fact that Isabelle might be masc or femme presenting when they meet shouldn’t be an issue — but what if she didn’t find her attractive in real life? What if it was really awkward and strange? What if this was all a huge mistake?

But she knows, she has to ask eventually. And Eve has proven again and again how trustworthy and kind she is. So, regardless of how badly this is going to end, Isabelle opens the message again and types.

 

**Isabelle (7:45pm)**

_i wanna meet you finally_

_is that ok?_

_...promise i won’t bail this time_

**Eve (7:46pm)**

_so ok_

_you have no idea_

_just name the time and place_

_i’ll be there_

 

_\--_

 

They agree to meet at Lighthouse, the radical queer bookshop downtown. Eve’s friends Adeeva and Misha run it, and most of UiO’s queer society events happen in the basement. They also agree to bring their favourite book and swap them on the date. Eve refuses to tell her what hers is (though Isabelle has an inkling it’s one of the queer theory books she keeps ranting on about). Isabelle decides to bring  _The Well of Loneliness_ , the book that helped her figure out her gender fluidity.

Eve promises that Adeeva and Misha will set aside one of the alcoves as ‘reserved’ for the date, which Isabelle protested as overkill, but Eve convinced her when she distractedly hinted that she might bring flowers.

More the point, Isabelle realises, Eve probably wants privacy. She is out and proud as trans* but only in the last few weeks did she open up about her transition and some of the problems she’s still dealing with.

The night before their date, Eve messages Isabelle to admit her trepidations.

 

**Eve (10:47pm)**

_hey beautiful_

_i’m so looking forward to meeting tomorrow_

_but can i also admit something?_

_i’m nervous. as i’m sure you are too._

_but i’m nervous for more than just the obvious reasons_

 

Isabelle is just getting into bed as she gets the texts — having spent the entire evening soaking in the tub, shaving her legs, filing her nails, rubbing coconut oil into her hair, trimming her pubes, even going so far as to jill off with her favourite vibrator just to ease her anxiety somewhat — and Eve’s nervousness mirrors perfectly her own. She replies immediately.

 

**Isabelle (10:49pm)**

_ok sweetie_

_tell me if you want_

_or not, whatever makes you comfortable_

**Eve (10:50pm)**

_fuck you’re so great <3_

_i just. you know i think you’re beautiful, right?_

_and i hope when we meet that it’ll still feel this good_

 

Isabelle’s heart stops in her chest. She knows exactly what Eve is saying, and it is both reassuring and terrifying to realise they really had no idea what was going to happen.

 

**Eve (10:52pm)**

_but there’s every chance that the bond we have online_

_just isn’t what it is irl_

_for whatever reason_

_but honestly in my mind there are a few concrete reasons_

_why you might not like me irl the way you do online_

_like. i’ve transitioned. And i’m happy with my body._

_most of the time._

**Isabelle (10:54pm)**

_you’re beautiful_

**Eve (10:54pm)**

_yeah but you’ve only seen the filtered parts_   
_of me i’ve put on my instagram stories._

_not the things i keep out of frame_

**Isabelle (10:56pm)**

_you know i think you’re gorgeous_

_just. incredibly gorgeous. like, so hot._

 

Eve’s bravery makes Isabelle brave. And she starts to type things she’s only allowed herself to think until now.

 

**Isabelle (10:57pm)**

_like, i feel more gay when i look at you._

_so you can go ahead and dismiss that worry_

_because i haven’t wanted anyone irl the way i want you_

 

The wait for Eve’s reply is eternal. Because the message is ‘Read,’ and then the typing bubble appears. And disappears. And appears. And disappears. And Isabelle is ready to take her SIM card out, break it in half, and burrow into her wardrobe in absolute horror.

Then, finally:

 

**Eve (11:03pm)**

_isabelle_

_Fuck_

_hard same_

_I mean, fuck_

**Isabelle (11:04pm)**

_eloquent_

**Eve (11:05pm)**

_don’t make fun of me_

_i’m nervous and turned on at the same time_

_I can’t think_

 

Oh.  _Oh_. Isabelle could sense where this was going. And she felt another surge of bravery. 

 

**Isabelle (11:06pm)**

_you want some help with that?_

 

The agony of appearing-and-disappearing text bubbles returns. But Isabelle knows they’re less about her and more about the situation. And it makes her bold.

 

**Isabelle (11:09pm)**

_because i’m half naked in bed and i’ve got a camera phone_

_you think that might help you out?_

**Eve (11:09pm)**

_fuck_

_are we doing this?_

_pls tell me we’re really doing this_

**Isabelle (11:10pm)**

_I know it’s risky_

_seeing as we’re finally gonna meet tomorrow_

_and like you said it might be weird and awkward._

_but that’s tomorrow’s problem._

_i want this. I want you. right now._

**Eve (11:12pm)**

_oh fuck_

_do you have snapchat?_

**Isabelle (11:12pm)**

_yeah i do_

_but i want you to talk to me, too_

_the entire time_

_can we do that?_

**Eve (11:14pm)**

_yes_

_absolutely_

_just… this might be hard for me_

_I’m still getting used to how to touch myself_

_ugh sorry this sounds so weird and lame_

**Isabelle (11:14pm)**

_no it doesn’t_

_tell me_

_i wanna know_

_(if you wanna tell me)_

**Eve (11:15pm)**

_i do_

_it’s just one of the things i’m afraid of about meeting you_

_like, if we wanna get together_

_i’m afraid i won’t be good for you_

**Isabelle (11:16pm)**

_impossible_

**Eve (11:16pm)**

_just … let me tell you. otherwise i never will._

_i haven’t been able to come since i got out of surgery_

_which my therapist tells me is really common_

_it’s a totally different configuration of nerve endings_   
_and hormones and sensations and it’s all new to me_

_and it triggers my dysphoria sometimes when my brain_   
_can’t compute the fact that i have the body i was always meant to have_   
_but  I don’t know how to do this thing that should just be instinctual_

_so even though it’s been like 2 years_

_i still panic about it because it’s become A Thing_

_where idk how to relax enough and ~feel~ rather than overthink_

_so most of my sexual experiences_   
_have been fraught and disappointing_

 

Isabelle trembles at Eve’s messages. This is the most vulnerable she’s allowed herself to get. For six months, Isabelle hasn’t had any indication that Eve was still struggling with body dysphoria; she just assumed everything was great. And now she is internally facepalming at her own ignorance.

She starts to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing at this critical point. But she knows, she  _knows_ that no matter what happens, she’d feel the same about Eve. 

 

**Isabelle (11:20pm)**

_baby_

_I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying this burden_

_and worrying it’ll affect how we interact_

_if we ever get to that point_

_and we don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable_

_because i just care about you_

**Eve (11:22pm)**

_fuck. we were meant to be sexting_

_and instead you’re making me cry_

 

Isabelle can’t help but laugh at that.

 

**Isabelle (11:23pm)**

_well i have two things to say to that:_

_One: i struggle a bit with body image because_   
_I’m still figuring out if i’m genderfluid, genderqueer,_   
_agender? Idk. i’m still happy with my body_   
_and i use she/her pronouns but … idk gender is complicated_

_and sometimes my gender presentation_   
_is a real problem for my libido because_   
_I’ve had some bad experiences with people_   
_not liking the fact that some days i’m masc_   
_and other days i’m femme_

_so i get your anxiety about letting me in_   
_I worry you won’t like me irl either_

**Eve (11:27pm)**

_Nonsense. Idiocy. Balderdash._

**Isabelle (11:27pm)**

_which is how i feel about your concern i won’t want to_   
_jump your bones as soon as i see you in that bookshop_

_also how dare you pick lighthouse_

_like, ultimate nut that you went with the queer_   
_bookshop as our first date_

_rude_

**Eve (11:28pm)**

_I’m...sorry?_

**Isabelle (11:28pm)**

_anyway, Two: my offer for sending u some_   
_special pics still stands_

**Eve (11:29pm)**

_as if i can turn that down._

_just...is it ok if I don’t send you any?_

_Not tonight_

**Isabelle (11:29pm)**

_Absolutely._

_you only do what you want to do_

_whatever makes you comfortable_

_< 3_

_can i ask something though?_

**Eve (11:30pm)**

_Ofc_

**Isabelle (11:30pm)**

_will you touch yourself too while we text?_

_it’s ok if you don’t want to_

_i just wanna know_

**Eve (11:31pm)**

_yeah i will be_

_I couldn’t resist it_

_I just might not orgasm_

_and i don’t want you to be offended or worried if i don’t_

_(ugh sorry)_

**Isabelle (11:31pm)**

_I won’t be, baby_

_Just make yourself feel good, that’s all you should aim for_

**Eve (11:32pm)**

_You always make me feel good_

**Isabelle (11:32pm)**

_Oh fuck_

**Eve (11:32pm)**

_you do_

_whether it’s just asking me how my day’s going_

_or posting a fucking fire selfie online which i have to immediately jill off to_

**Isabelle (11:33pm)**

_you’ve touched yourself looking at me?_

_are you serious babe_

_shit that’s hot_

**Eve (11:33pm)**

_how could i not_

_you’re the only one i wanna know that way_

**Isabelle (11:34pm)**

_what would you do_

_if you were in my bed with me_

_tell me_

**Eve (11:34pm)**

_I’d do to you what i’m doing to myself right now_

_I’d have kissed you and kissed you and kissed you all night_

_until you begged me to touch you_

_but i wouldn’t touch you until you were wet through your underwear just from dry riding and kissing and rolling around in the sheets_

**Isabelle (11:34pm)**

_Oh fuck, Eve_

_I’m so wet_

_please_

**Eve (11:35pm)**

_touch yourself for me_

_imagine it’s me_

**Isabelle (11:35pm)**

_I am_

_you feel so good_

_licking along my lips and around my clit_

**Eve (11:36pm)**

_shit baby_

_yeah i am_

_i bet you taste fucking delicious_

_I can’t wait til your thighs are wrapped around my head_

**Isabelle (11:37pm)**

_I am not gonna last_

_babe_

_shit_

**Eve (11:37pm)**

_take a snapchat for me_

_show me_

 

Isabelle is desperate, lying out naked on her bed, sweating through the sheets as she circles her clit with two fingers and feels the wetness drip down her asscheeks. Her labia are thick with arousal and she tries to stave off the orgasm by moving her hand down to run her fingertips along the swollen flesh.

She taps out of the text and opens her snapchat, angling it so Eve could see what she’d be looking at if she were there — Isabelle has her legs splayed, her fingers holding her lips apart so Eve can see the shine of wetness around her opening. 

She spends nearly ten minutes trying to take a pic, before she settles on one she is happy with. She sends it to Eve, and goes back to their texts, trying to get her breathing under control.

 

**Isabelle (11:47pm)**

_sent_

_now u see how fucking horny i am for u_

_christ i want you inside me so bad, baby_

**Eve (11:47pm)**

_Oh holy fuck_

_Isabelle_

_you are so hot_

_your perfect thighs_

_your gorgeous pussy_

_promise me you’ll sit on my face someday_

_i need it_

**Isabelle (11:48pm)**

_Eve_

_please_

_I’m so horny_

**Eve (11:48pm)**

_me too_

_that pic is driving me crazy_

_I can practically smell you_

_and you smell so fucking sweet_

**Isabelle (11:49pm)**

_i’m gonna finger myself_

_i’m already so turned on i’m gonna do two_

_and i’m gonna keep going until i scream your name_

**Eve (11:50pm)**

_yes baby_

_please, shit, yes, open up for me_

_how does it feel?_

**Isabelle (11:51pm)**

_So good_

_gonna_

_yeah_

_I’m on 3_

**Eve (11:51pm)**

_three fingers?_

_oh my god_

**Isabelle (11:52pm)**

_tell me_

_what are you doing?_

_are you naked?_

_are you touching that beautiful clit for me?_

**Eve (11:53pm)**

_yes baby_

_fuck yes_

**Isabelle (11:53pm)**

_shit_

**Eve (11:54pm)**

_imagining it’s you_

_it’s you touching me_

_pinching my nipples, licking me, eating me out_

**Isabelle (11:54pm)**

_fuck fuck fuck_

_yes_

_yes it is_

_god, eve, i’m close_

**Eve (11:55pm)**

_you’re such a good girl_

_three fingers deep into the hottest_   
_pussy i’ve ever seen_

_I bet it sounds obscene_

_such a hot girl, fuck_

**Isabelle (11:56pm)**

_just for you_

_only hot for you_

_only gonna come for you_

_shit i’m so wet baby i think if i come i’m gonna squirt everywhere_

**Eve (11:59pm)**

_Oh fuck_

**Isabelle (12:00am)**

_eve i’m gonna come_

**Eve (12:01am)**

_that’s it_

_keep fucking yourself_

_I want you to feel me on top of you_

_touching that spot inside you, that spot you NEED me to touch_

_and leaning down so i can whisper in your ear that you have to stop holding back on me_

_because i need to see you fall apart_

_I wanna hear you fall apart on just my fingers_

**Isabelle (12:02am)**

_shit shit shit_

**Eve (12:02am)**

_yeah that’s it_

_oh fuck baby that’s it_

_let go for me_

_come all over yourself just for me_

 

Isabelle screams. She can barely register the sound, because her back is arched and her face is buried in the pillow and her legs are actually up in the air with how hard she’s coming. And she recognises the second before it happens that Eve has made her squirt, and the wetness is all over her fingers, her thighs, her sheets.

She realises she’s held her breath as she hit the hardest orgasm of her life, and she lets out a long sigh as she comes down from it. 

 

**Isabelle (12:07am)**

_I made a mess_

**Eve (12:07am)**

_can’t wait for you to make one for me_


	2. we got the pynk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the girls go on their date. then to the bowling alley. then ... they both roll a strike [side eye emoji]

Isabelle walks down the street to Lighthouse Books, and the sun shines hot on the pavement, the sky a perfect blue above her. The fingers of her right hand twist in the handles of her tote bag. She puts her earphones up to the highest volume as she listens to the playlist Eve made for her weeks ago. But her mind is still stuck five minutes into the future. 

She’s walking along the street but she doesn’t feel like she is, when her focus is set on predicting the multitude of ways her day is about to change. Will Eve hug her when she sees her? Will she kiss her? Will they be attracted to each other? Will they even get on? What happens if Eve just isn’t interested, if she leaves, if she never speaks to her again?

But she stops herself from spiralling. Despite the nerves, she knows with absolute certainty that whatever is about to happen, Eve will care about her. Eve has only brightened her life since entering it. Suddenly she thinks of Eve’s first messages, so kind and unassuming, and the way she took it upon herself to  _be there_ for her, in ways that no-one had ever  _been there_ before. She knows, now, she’ll never be able to stop wishing for more. 

So Isabelle tries to envisage the ways in which her day is about to change. And of course, she thinks, it doesn’t just feel like the change is limited to her day. It feels like everything is changing.

But as soon as the long-term hope, the deep and skittish longing, starts to warp her expectations to fantasy — a one-year anniversary, meeting her parents, going on holiday together — she mentally checks herself. Nothing about this situation is guaranteed. Nothing is certain. Nothing is exactly what she’ll allow herself to hope for.

She checks yet again that she brought the book with her — she did — and then she walks onto the step leading into the bookshop, nodding at the cashier as she crosses the threshold. The cashier is a beautiful round-faced girl in a hijab, standing next to a shorter hijabi with a stronger jaw, and a haughty expression.

‘Halla,’ Isabelle says as she approaches them.

The smiling girl looks Isabelle up and down and then turns to the other. ‘That’s her, I bet.’

The other hijabi rolls her eyes and leans across the counter. ‘You looking for Eve?’ she asks.

Isabelle nods and shifts on her feet. She feels more than ever how she’s entering a place that Eve is so familiar with, that she belongs to. 

‘I’m Adeeva,’ the girl says, pointing to herself, ‘and this is Misha,’ she adds, while Misha rubs her hands together and starts bouncing on her feet. 

‘M! Would you please rein it in?’ Adeeva protests, placing a hand on her shoulder and forcing her to stay still.

‘We’re so excited you’re here,’ Misha says, ignoring Adeeva entirely. While tightly clasping her hands together, she barrels on, ‘Eve’s waiting in the poetry alcove around the corner. We already brought her some coffee — do you want coffee? We can bring you some. How do you like it?’

Isabelle smiles involuntarily at Misha’s enthusiasm and lets out a nervous laugh. ‘Yeah,’ she says, adjusting the handles of her tote bag along her shoulder. ‘Coffee sounds great. Just black.’

‘Terrific, you go ahead and find Eve and we’ll be in in a minute,’ Adeeva says, deadpan, as she gently pushes Isabelle away from the counter, and Misha’s next outburst.

For a few seconds, Isabelle lingers, and wonders how she can postpone this moment just a little longer. She knows she should just walk straight into the alcove, see Eve, and stop waiting in the wings. But she is numb. She knows her heart is beating in her throat and her hands are shaking but she feels nothing. The part of her brain that processes sensation has silenced itself, just to spare her from having to live through every agonising anxious minute.

‘Hey,’ Adeeva says gently. ‘Are you alright?’

Startled by the interruption of her thoughts, Isabelle looks over at the two hijabis and opens her mouth to reply. But her words stop as she notices for the first time the rings on each of their ring fingers, and how Misha absent-mindedly runs a hand along Adeeva’s lower back. The simple intimacy between them sets Isabelle at ease, and she realises they’re not just Eve’s friends that run the bookshop. They’re a couple. They set up this radical queer bookshop together. Suddenly, the name of isn’t just a name: Isabelle realises it is their beacon of hope and safety for everyone in their community. 

Her heart is set.

She smiles at Adeeva and quickly nods. ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ she says, before taking a deep breath and walking in the direction Adeeva pointed her.

Passing under the archway into the second half of the shop, Isabelle notes the three alcoves in the opposite wall, but only one of which has curtains drawn and a sign outside stating, ‘Reserved.’ She balls her hands into fists at her sides, and walks right for it.

The first thing she notices is the strong, sweet smell of flowers. It’s a heady, thick scent of … something like lilac? 

The next is the way that all sound ceases for her as she pulls the curtain back. The alcove is small, basically just a window with a U-shaped bench that forms the sill, and beyond either side of which rises shelves upon shelves of books.

The next is the bouquet of white hyacinths in the centre of the window seat.

Then, Eve.

Eve, sitting just a foot away from her, holding a thick hardback book in her hands.   
Eve, whose head glances up at the sight of the curtain falling back. 

Eve, whose shoulder-length dark blonde hair falls in waves around her face, and who doesn’t wear any make-up but looks sunkissed and soft.  
Eve, whose plump lips form immediately into the wide smile that Isabelle has only known from photos.  
Eve, who stands on two feet and reaches both hands out to cup Isabelle’s face.

‘Holy hell, you’re even more beautiful than I thought,’ she says with a bright grin, and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

Isabelle can’t breathe. She can’t think. She drops her bag on the floor, and her lips part of their own accord, and her hands draw Eve closer to her.

‘Eve--’ she says, but she stops herself when Eve moves closer, their lips just a breath apart.

‘Mmm?’ Eve responds, holding Isabelle’s face, glancing the tips of their noses together.

Isabelle’s heart stutters in its rhythm as she takes in what’s just happened, the fact of Eve’s closeness, the clear white light of summer sun coming through the window, the thick smell of flowers, the warmth of Eve’s hands on her face, the backlight of sunshine on her hair--

‘Eve,’ Isabelle repeats again, but this time it’s a whisper, a plea.

Eve’s gaze moves from Isabelle’s lips to her eyes, and there’s a shift in her focus — the hazy look is replaced by fixed determination. 

She looks back down to Isabelle’s lips and asks, quietly, ‘Can I?’

There’s no verbal reply Isabelle can give. She can’t think. Her hands grasp at Eve’s upper arms and she tilts her head up. 

Eve doesn’t make her wait. She kisses Isabelle’s lips, once, twice, three times. 

But it feels like she’s kissing her everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. 

Her lips are so soft, and her breath is warm across Isabelle’s cheeks, and her hands are gentle, and she’s so  _tall_ \--

Isabelle steps forward, and wraps her arms around Eve’s waist, relishing the surprised sound she makes against her lips. But Eve soon surprises her, when the tip of her tongue starts to caress Isabelle’s cupid’s bow, then dip past her lips and teeth. They breathe slowly. They release. They sway. 

Before Isabelle can get used to the refrain in her mind that sings  _She’s kissing me_ ,  _may it never end_ , Eve pulls back.

For a moment, Eve just smiles at her, caressing her cheeks with both thumbs. Then, almost to herself, she says, ‘I am so glad you’re here.’

Isabelle lets out a nervous laugh, and feels the blush rise on her cheeks at Eve’s undivided attention. She doesn’t quite know what to say, taken aback at how easy they moved together, at how much her heart wants this, in such a simple way.

‘Me too,’ she finally replies. She sees how Eve’s eyes soften at that. Without thinking, she circles her arms around Eve’s lower back and pulls her into a tight hug, letting out a long breath when she finally,  _feels like finally_ , tucks her face into Eve’s neck.

‘Baby,’ Eve murmurs, like she knows, too. She knows how this feels.

Isabelle only tightens her hold and screws her eyes shut against Eve’s neck, her heart beating staccato against her ribs when she feels the way Eve shivers when her eyelashes tickle the skin there.

‘I can’t believe I’m standing here,’ Isabelle says. She doesn’t know what else to say, her thoughts have to come tumbling out.

‘Me neither,’ Eve chuckles, as she runs her hand through Isabelle’s hair. The touch is so soothing, Isabelle feels how her shoulders unwind without her conscious thought. 

Her grip softens, too, until their hug is sweet and intimate, instead of urgent and tense. And she breathes soft and slow onto Eve’s skin, rubbing her nose gently along her shoulder, revelling in the closeness, in the gentle touches, in the way Eve hums as their hands mould to each other, as they shape only to fit into the other, how they only move to caress.

At last, Isabelle eases her hold on Eve and steps back to look at her. She’s just as pretty up close. 

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Eve says with a nervous laugh. 

‘Why not?’

‘Because I feel like I’m gonna fall over, that’s why.’

Isabelle laughs and pushes her slightly. ‘God, you’re such a cliché.’

Eve scoffs, ‘A cliché? Who just said the words  _I can’t believe I’m standing here_  like we’re in a fucking rom com?’

‘Don’t mock my feelings!’ Isabelle rebuts, but it’s an empty protest, and Eve knows it. They’re smiling too wide.

‘Never, babe,’ Eve answers, her hands slowly twining with Isabelle’s, her gaze set and unyielding.

It’s almost too much, too fast, how Eve is looking at her. But Isabelle loves it, craves it, delights in it. Still, there’s an intimacy there she’s not accustomed to, and she doesn’t know how to process it. How is Eve so quick to just act on her feelings?

Isabelle squirms. ‘Urgh, now you have to stop looking at  _me_ like that.’

‘It’s not my fault you look like a dream,’ Eve says, and she doesn’t even try to be funny about it. Her eyes are too serious, her tone too sincere.

Still, she grins when Isabelle sighs and looks away with a small smile. 

‘Alright,’ Isabelle says decidedly, ‘let’s do the book thing, so we can stop being disgusting.’

‘I love it when you talk dirty,’ Eve murmurs as Isabelle plops herself down on side of the sill. Isabelle only rolls her eyes and roots in her bag for the book.

Soon, Eve sits opposite her and makes sure to press her calves next to Isabelle’s. The touch is grounding as much as it is unfamiliar. When Isabelle finally takes her book out, she looks up to see Eve holding the hardbound book from before.

‘What did you bring me?’ she asks, too eager to stop herself.

Eve only smiles and twirls a strand of her long hair around her index finger. Her mouth is open enough for Isabelle to see how the tip of her tongue comes out and lightly touches one of her canines, right before she playfully sinks her teeth into her lower lip. The movement is hypnotising. Isabelle has to remember to act normal.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ Eve says instead.

Isabelle groans loudly and drops her forehead to the book in her lap. ‘You have to be fucking kidding me,’ she deadpans, still speaking into the book.

‘It was too good an opportunity to pass up,’ she hears in response.

‘Your game is fucking weak,’ Isabelle argues, sitting back upright and staring unimpressed at the girl across from her.

‘Excuse me?’ Eve says, raising her eyebrows. ‘My game is  _weak_? Need I remind you the effects of my so-called “weak” game just last night?’

Isabelle refuses to show the effect of that memory on her, and instead retorts, ‘I mean, if that was the best you could do, that’s … sweet, I guess.’

Eve smiles, though still clearly affronted, and moves her foot to creep up the back of Isabelle’s leg. ‘I haven’t shown you my A Game yet. I feel like you just wouldn’t cope if I did.’

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle says, ‘I wait for your undoubtedly embarrassing  _A Game_ with bated breath.’

But at that, Eve leans forward and places her hand over Isabelle’s knee, letting her long fingers caress the inside of her thigh in small circles. Isabelle, determined not to let her see any impact, looks down and purses her lips in an expression of disinterest.

‘I sure hope this isn’t your idea of seduction, babe. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than just playing the Nervous Game like we’re fourteen or something.’

Eve smirks to herself and then takes her hand away from Isabelle’s knee, instead cupping Isabelle’s face for a moment, before she moves her fingers along her jaw, and under her chin, then down her neck, with the lightest ticklish touches that make Isabelle shiver despite herself.

Isabelle involuntarily drops her head back to let Eve’s fingers spread across her throat. She hears how her breath is already loud and shuts her mouth to stop it. She can’t let Eve win this game.

But Eve is confident. Her hand spans the column of Isabelle’s neck and the touch is coupled with the sudden sensation of Eve’s other hand curling underneath her thigh. Somehow, Eve knows what Isabelle is hoping for, because the next thing is, the hand on her neck starts to squeeze. 

Isabelle can’t help how her mouth drops open again. She thinks she should be somewhat affronted at Eve’s forwardness--not to mention discomfited by the distinct possibility of Adeeva or Misha walking in on them at any moment--but it just feels too fucking good. She tries to hold in how much she’s enjoying it, still competitive enough to deny Eve the satisfaction of getting to her. Then Eve squeezes tighter, as if she  _knows_. And she matches it with moving her other hand higher up Isabelle’s thigh, until she’s cupping her ass, and her little finger is rubbing along the inseam where Isabelle wants her most.

Eve leans in and licks along her lobe, another out-of-field movement that makes her squirm. Then Eve whispers into her hair, ‘Looks like I’m doing a pretty good job of seducing you right now. Or is this game still “weak”?’

‘Fucking pathetic,’ Isabelle rasps, but she sees how Eve’s eyes only dilate further at the challenge.

‘You’re such a brat,’ says Eve, her hand squeezing Isabelle’s throat tight for a second before releasing. The blood rush to Isabelle’s head is blunt. Intoxicating. 

‘I’m going to have to do something about it,’ she continues, the fingers of her other hand now pressing hard up against Isabelle’s pussy through her jeans.

Isabelle nods. And then Eve’s hands disappear from her. It feels like a harsh rejection — until Eve’s lips glance along her own in the whisper of a kiss, as she says, ‘ _Later_.’

Before Isabelle can protest, Eve sits back on the opposite sill and Isabelle sits up straight again, valiantly trying to overcompensate for how her face is flushed by acting aloof. By the way Eve smirks smugly, it doesn’t seem to fully convince her.

‘Now you’re done trying to feel me up in public,’ Isabelle says, putting on a tone of haughtiness, to which Eve only laughs, ‘show me the damn book.’

\--

They spend upwards of three hours in the alcove, furnished by occasional coffee breaks from Misha. Isabelle wonders when she has to say goodbye, when this has to end. She wonders if they can stay in there forever.

When they finally swap books, Isabelle sees that Eve has brought her well-worn copy of Simone de Beauvoir’s [ _The Second Sex_](https://uberty.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/1949_simone-de-beauvoir-the-second-sex.pdf) in exchange for Isabelle’s copy of Radclyffe Hall’s [ _The Well of Loneliness_](http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0609021h.html) _._ She remembers Eve mentioning de Beauvoir at some point: that the assertion “One is not born but rather becomes a woman” helped her realise her true identity. For years before she transitioned, she had it framed and hidden on the inside of her closet door. 

‘You know I read something recently about the sign in ASL for “transgender”,’ says Isabelle, hoping she’s not about to put her foot in it.

‘Oh yeah?’ Eve asks, ‘what is it?

‘It’s a transliteration from Latin.  _Quod est in corde_. It means “That which is in the heart”.’

Eve’s face falls. For a long moment Isabelle worries she’s crossed a line, as they sit in pointed silence. Until Eve smiles.

‘You read that recently? Like that just somehow came up in your everyday life, apropos of nothing? And you just happen to remember it?’ She moves her tongue again so the tip lightly touches the sharp end of her canine, and Isabelle’s eyes are immediately drawn to the movement.

‘Um, yeah,’ says Isabelle, her gaze still fixed on Eve’s mouth. ‘I--I saw it on Twitter or something. Yknow. Just, some. Trans* support and activist accounts, that I follow.’

‘Can you [show me](https://www.signingsavvy.com/sign/TRANSGENDER/9662/2)?’ Eve asks.

Isabelle purses her lips and slowly makes eye contact again. She knows that once she shows the sign, Eve will know she wasn’t casually coming across this, but seeking out trans* awareness. But she can’t deny Eve anything.

So, Isabelle raises her right hand, placing her thumb against her sternum, holding her fingers straight, and at a perpendicular angle to her chest. Then she curls her fingers in a spiral, until they meet the tip of her thumb, placed against her heart.

Eve stares at it and then in a hushed voice asks, ‘Can you show me again?’

Noticing the change in tone, Isabelle feels the rush of affection that makes her want to wrap herself around Eve and show her how much she’s loved. But she holds back, knowing this moment is more important, so she performs the sign again.

The alcove is quiet again, and Isabelle is antsy in the tension. So, she attempts to lighten it. 

‘I mean, don’t get a big head about this. I just … it’s interesting to … learn about.’

Eve laughs her loud, happy laugh — the one where her eyes crinkle — and Isabelle’s chest hurts just looking at it. 

‘Just. Stop questioning me and talk more about de Beauvoir,’ Isabelle continues, ducking her head to let her hair fall in front of her face.

\--

Eve explains how de Beauvoir helped her understand and critique gender, how it gave her the language to describe how her identity didn’t match the one she was assigned at birth, how she grew to criticise its drawbacks and recognise where it was outdated. 

Isabelle watches Eve’s hand gestures as she speaks so passionately, the furrow in her brow when she tries to explain its importance, the brightness in her eyes when she speaks of her liberation. It gets harder and harder not to touch her.

Then Eve asks about Radclyffe Hall, and Isabelle feels the familiar surge of happiness when talking about her favourite book. She explains how the novel talks about ‘inversion’ — the inborn reversal of gender traits — and how it helped her understand that she wasn’t cisgender. Though ‘inversion’ was really a theory created through the lens of heterosexual bias to try and normalise non-heteronormative sexuality, it also prompted Isabelle to start questioning the arbitrariness of gender assignment. 

‘I’m not sure I get it,’ Eve admits. ‘This book told you that lesbians were just people who appeared female but were male on the inside. So that their attraction to women was just latent heterosexuality?’

Isabelle shook her head. ‘It’s not-- I-- Of course, that’s reductive. I’m not explaining this well,’ she says, biting her lip. She worries she’s just offended Eve hugely by bringing along a book that raises such red flags for gender identity.

‘Can I read you a passage?’ she offers. ‘It might help explain better than I can.’

Eve nods and sits forward on the sill, placing her hands on Isabelle’s knees. ‘I’d love that.’

Turning to the earmarked page, Isabelle revisits her favourite passage.

_She was handsome but much too large and unyielding both in body and mind, and they liked clinging women. Men were oak-trees, preferring the feminine ivy. It might cling rather close, it might finally strangle, it frequently did, and yet they preferred it, and this being so, they resented Stephen, suspecting something of the acorn about her._

When she finishes reading, Isabelle closes the book again and hopes Eve gets it. She can’t articulate why this book — problematic as it is for its nascent understanding of gender, but startlingly ahead of its time for how it bravely presented the truth of how Hall felt — is so vital to her.

Then she feels Eve’s hands move and start to caress her own, still folded on top of the novel on her lap.

‘That’s fucking beautiful,’ Eve says, tilting her head to look at Isabelle’s eyes. ‘And I think I get it now.’

Isabelle perks up. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. That’s a gorgeous, and simple, way to think about it. Plus, I think there’s something of the acorn about you, too,’ Eve says, smiling now as she laces their fingers together. 

Isabelle softens and lets herself look back at Eve with unadorned fondness.

‘You know why?’ Eve continues. Isabelle shakes her head.

‘Because every time I see you I’m  _so_ close to a nut.’

Isabelle sighs and then lets the rage take over.

‘Oh for fuck sake. Get  _off_ me, you fucking weirdo!’ she shouts, as Eve giggles and launches herself on Isabelle with a tickling attack.

‘Min lille eikenøtt!’ Eve shouts, still all over Isabelle as they play-fight on the window seat.

\--

They leave the bookshop to go bowling, at Eve’s insistence: ‘I need to know what you look like wearing hideous shoes. And bending over.’

‘Is this a kink we haven’t discussed yet?’

‘Actually, yes.’

Isabelle shoves her, but Eve pulls her back in and holds her hand the entire walk to the bowling alley.

\--

‘Are you turning this into a cliché date, Eve?’

‘Are you only realising this now?’

‘Ugh you’re the worst.’

\--

They are the only people at the bowling alley. Which, Eve points out, isn’t that surprising, considering it’s 3pm on a Tuesday. But aside from the one guy working the bar and the woman at reception, the building appears empty. 

As Isabelle and Eve walk past the unmanned pool tables, arcade games, foosball tables — shiny bowling shoes on their feet, the soles slipping on the carpet — they both suddenly realise they’re starving.

‘Shit, I haven’t eaten since breakfast,’ Isabelle realises.

‘I bet we can order something from the bar,’ says Eve, taking hold of Isabelle’s hand again and steering them both in that direction.

‘You don’t mind?’ Isabelle asks.

‘Not at all,’ Eve says, ‘I could eat, too.’

At the bar, they find out there’s only really fried finger food, and decide to go all out: they order the four-person platter of chicken tenders, six sliders, twice-cooked chips, barbeque wings, with extra garlic mayonnaise and hot sauce on the side. 

They perch on the red vinyl bar stools and sip on their cokes with paper straws, their ankles hooked around each other on the chrome footrest.

‘So I have a question,’ says Isabelle, after a few moments’ silence.

‘Sounds ominous,’ Eve jokes. ‘But shoot.’

‘Gillian Anderson, Sigourney Weaver, Laura Dern: Fuck, Marry, Kill?’

Eve rounds on Isabelle and stares at her in horror. ‘You’re asking me to kill one of them? I need to marry them  _all_. This is outrageous. I--I can’t believe you.’

Isabelle smiles widely at her, unremorseful. ‘Answer the question, babe.’

At that moment, Annie Lennox’s  _Walking on Broken Glass_ starts playing loudly throughout the amusements centre, and Isabelle starts shimmying along to it while drinking her coke and waiting for Eve to come up with an answer.

While Isabelle lip syncs to ‘ _Oh let the rain come down, Let the wind blow through me_ ,’ Eve snaps her fingers and turns back to her.

‘Ok,’ she says. ‘I’m not happy about this, but I have my answer.’

Isabelle rolls her eyes and continues dancing, but with real singing now — ‘ _And I’ve got so little left to lose, that it feels just like I’m walking on broken glass_!’ — which covers Eve’s response. 

‘Is!’ she shouts, and Isabelle stops singing, looking over to Eve with a smug smile.

‘Oh you’re finally done with your existential crisis?’ 

Eve ignores her, and continues on, listing her answers on a finger each, ‘Marry Laura Dern. Fuck Gillian Anderson. Kill Sigourney Weaver.’

‘You are  _kidding_ ,’ Isabelle protests. ‘You’re gonna kill Sigourney Weaver?!  _Hva faen_?’

‘Look, just because you gave me Sophie’s Choice, you don’t get to throw stones in this glasshouse, my friend.’

‘ _Sigourney Weaver_!’ Isabelle shouts. ‘You cannot be serious.’

‘What’s your genius answer, then?’ Eve rebuts. 

‘Obviously marry Sigourney, fuck Gillian, kill Laura,’ Isabelle says without hesitation.

‘You would  _KILL_ LAURA ELIZABETH DERN?’ Eve cries, throwing both hands in the air, before folding them across her chest and shaking her head. ‘You are a heinous and untrustworthy lesbian and you should be locked up for such blasphemy.’

‘I guess I know what our dream threesome is now,’ Isabelle says, twirling her straw in her glass.

‘Huh?’ Eve asks, thrown by the change of subject, and the sudden appearance of sex. Between them, personally. Sex with Isabelle. And Gillian Anderson. Her brain briefly goes offline.

‘We both wanna fuck Gillian Anderson,’ Isabelle points out. ‘So, there’s the dream threesome.’ 

Eve is surprised into silence and stares at Isabelle, who is still casually sipping her drink and looking very satisfied with herself. Before she can formulate a real reply, the bartender returns with the tray of food.

They both at once focus on the sight of perfectly cooked, crispy, salty, savoury goodness, and tuck in without another word. 

Though it’s a four-person platter, the two make short work of it. And Eve notices how the crumbs from the chicken tenders gather at the corners of Isabelle’s mouth, and how the hot sauce smudges on her top lip, but it only makes her look more delicious. Isabelle sees how Eve’s lips wrap around a slider, how her tongue comes out to lick some garlic mayonnaise that dripped down her wrist, and it only makes her want to taste it herself. The occasional moan or grunt that they let out while they savour the long-awaited mouthfuls of crunchy, hot, spicy deliciousness only adds to the anticipation.

As they near the end of the platter, their mouths are slick with sauce and grease, their hands sticky with crumbs, their breaths peppery. Isabelle catches a glance as Eve finishes off a barbeque wing with her bare hands, and the way her mouth moves around it, the way her tongue flicks out to taste first and then suck, the way her fingers delicately render the flesh — she suddenly feels far too turned on for just seeing someone eat cheap barfood. But Eve’s lips are a sin. And all at once, the bowling seems like a redundant activity when they could be somewhere else. Alone.

‘Everything ok?’ Eve asks, interrupting Isabelle’s thoughts.

‘Yep,’ Isabelle says, embarrassed at having almost been caught. ‘Just feeling bad for you.’

‘For me? Why?’

‘Because I’m about to  _trash_ you and you have no way of mitigating it.’

Eve raises an eyebrow and wipes her hands on a napkin. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she says confidently.

\--

Eve insists on not having the bumpers up on their lane, and Isabelle knows immediately things are not going to go her way. 

Then, in the very first frame, Eve throws a heavy ball down the lane in a side-spin, and before it even reaches the pins, she turns around and starts to walk away. 

She saunters back to Isabelle with a wide grin on her face, knowing before the screen announces it that she has scored a strike. 

Isabelle is in trouble.

By the fourth frame, Isabelle is desperately trying every trick in the book, including the attempt to get a speedy and straight trajectory on the ball, by approaching the lane with a small sprint — which ends terribly when the slippery soles of her shoes go flying along the polished wooden floor and she topples back in a mess of limbs. The final blow comes when the bowling ball in her hands then falls down on her stomach and winds her. Eve hurries over and drops to her knees to worriedly ask if Isabelle is alright, and aside from the hurt dignity, she is.

But from then on Eve reins back her skill and on more than one occasion purposefully throws a ball that ends up in the gutter. Isabelle protests that she’s not being competitive enough, but it’s hard to argue further when Eve steps forward and plants a wet kiss on her lips.

By the eighth frame, Eve has stopped trying to play altogether, and openly ogles Isabelle when she bends over or crouches to roll. More than once Isabelle turns around and finds Eve’s eyes travel from her ass up to her face. 

‘Do you  _mind_?’

‘Not at all.’

But when Isabelle goes back to get another ball for her second roll, Eve stands up and crowds her against the ball-tray. 

She winds her arms around Isabelle’s waist and murmurs in her ear, ‘Do you wanna keep playing?’

Isabelle feels the way Eve’s body moulds against hers, and the slight interest she had in seeing the game out evaporates. The tingle of desire she’s felt all day grows and grows into something else, something overwhelming, something that clouds out all other plans.

She turns her head and sees the way Eve’s pupils are wide with desire. There never was a decision to be made.

‘Let’s go.’

\--

Isabelle calls out as soon as they enter kollektivet, and is beyond thankful when she’s met with silence.

‘Eskild and Linn aren’t back from Berlin yet,’ she explains to Eve. ‘So… we’ve got the place to ourselves.’

She feels stupid as soon as she’s said it, knowing she’s awkward only because she’s nervous. She’s terrified that something is about to go wrong, that she won’t be as attractive to Eve when she takes her clothes off, that Eve will be disappointed. But not knowing how to articulate any of that without making it more awkward, she tries to think of something else to say.

But Eve seems to know. She takes hold of Isabelle’s hands and brings her close, then puts a small kiss on her cheek.

‘I’m nervous about doing anything,’ Eve admits, quietly.

Isabelle exhales and leaves a kiss on Eve’s neck, a reassurance.  _I’m here, I’m not going anywhere_.

‘Me too,’ she replies.

‘I--I’m just gonna say it,’ Eve continues, ‘because otherwise it’s just going to balloon in my mind and I won’t be able to be present with you at all.’

Isabelle brings her two arms around Eve’s neck and hugs her close. Eve sighs at the contact, and starts to speak into Isabelle’s shoulder.

‘So, I--I still have a lot of dark body hair. And my breasts are small. And my voice is still deep. So while I now inhabit the body shape I’ve always wanted and identified with, there are things… there are things…’

Her voice starts to falter slightly, and Isabelle holds her through it. She wants Eve to know without a doubt that she isn’t running.

‘There are things,’ Eve says again, quieter than before, ‘about me... that are not as feminine as you might like, because they are maybe a little too masculine and-- I-- I don’t want us to get to a place where you feel like … you’re … like you’re compromising.’

Isabelle at first is entirely confused by Eve’s words. Compromising? What would she be compromising? But her thoughts are cut short by the feeling of water on her skin, and the subsequent realisation that Eve is crying.

‘Baby!’ Isabelle whispers. ‘Baby, please don’t be upset. I-- I’m not silent because I agree, I’m silent because I don’t  _understand_.’

Eve breathes a little slower at that, and stands back to look at Isabelle. ‘I mean,’ she says, taking hold of her hands again, ‘that you’re gay. And I worry there are things about me that are too masculine for you to … like.’

The violent worry and horror that courses through Isabelle is immense. She doesn’t know where to begin, and so she opens her mouth and lets her feeling out unfiltered.

‘Eve I could never-- you are so beautiful, and even if your worries had  _any_ grounding in reality, which they do  _not_ , I don’t see you as anything other than who you are, which is a gorgeous, kind, cliché, embarrassing, considerate, silly,  _hot_ , pansexual woman. I can’t-- you’d never-- of course I  _like_ you, I’m fucking  _wild_ about you, and your body, and your voice-- My god, Eve, your voice is so stupidly sexy I can barely stand it. And I don’t care what you think may or may not be masculine about you. You are who I like. All of you. As you are. That’s it.’

Eve looks shy for the first time since Isabelle has known her, sheepish and nervous, and Isabelle is determined to prove to her that her words are true.

‘Eve,’ she says, assertively. ‘I’ve wanted my hands on you since I first saw you six months ago. Nothing about how you look or how you identify is going to change that.’

Without a word, Eve launches forward and kisses Isabelle full on the lips. It’s a desperate kiss, and her hands immediately curve around Isabelle’s breasts, and her breathing is shallow, and Isabelle can feel the remnants of her tears on her cheeks. It reminds her that Eve needs the reassurance. So she kisses back with as much intensity, pulling Eve in by her ass, and then licking into her mouth with no hesitation.

The sound of Eve’s small sighs and moans starts to drive Isabelle wild. She runs her hands through Eve’s hair, feeling the cold silkiness along her fingers, and the responsive squeeze Eve gives on her breasts. It drives the wind from her lungs for a second. 

Unable to stand any longer, Isabelle starts pulling Eve with her to the bedroom. She kicks the door open with a swift back foot, and then tugs off Eve’s sweatshirt. Eve pushes her fingers through Isabelle’s long hair and in the same movement discards her snapback to the floor. All of a sudden, Isabelle’s mind flies forward in time to the image of Eve on her back, with her legs open; Eve on all fours, getting fingered; Eve sitting on her tongue; Eve’s face in between her thighs. And Isabelle is breathless again, paralysed by choice, too turned on to think, too full of love to figure out which would work best for Eve to feel most at ease.

Eve notices how Isabelle slows, and she pulls back to look into her eyes. ‘Is? We’re not moving too fast, are we?’

Isabelle shakes her head and gives her a deep kiss. When she leans back again, she glances her nose off of Eve’s, and whispers, ‘I wanna fuck you but I also want to make love to you but I also want to just sex you up til you’re full. I’m having a hard time with FOMO to be honest.’

‘Oh damn,’ Eve says, before she bursts out laughing. And it’s the crinkly-eyed kind again that makes Isabelle’s heart hurt.

‘Fuck, you’re beautiful,’ Isabelle says without thinking, and Eve stops short, seeing the way Isabelle’s face is slack with unfiltered want.

She moves her hands over Eve’s hips, cradling her fingers along her curves, and then kisses her. She kisses her like she’s already inside her. She kisses her like she’s never going to be satisfied kissing anyone else. She kisses her like she’s not allowed to. 

Eve responds with an unholy moan and pants against her lips, ‘Bed. Now.’

Already aroused at the prospect of getting between Eve’s legs, Isabelle turns them away from the door, and without breaking the kiss, walks them both over to the bed. Then, she grasps two fistfuls of Eve’s tshirt and pulls it over her head, immediately ducking her head to bury her face between Eve’s breasts, peeling the lace of her bra down so she can suck on Eve’s nipples. Another heavenly moan drops from Eve’s lips.

Isabelle gently pushes Eve back onto the bed, and she bounces there, her breasts showing out of her half-off bra, her knees spread to catch her balance. And Isabelle just wants to stare at her, taking in her long legs, her gorgeous thighs, her soft stomach, her soft face — she sees the dark hair Eve was worried about, across her belly and torso, and on her thighs, but she doesn’t see it as anything other than part of the body she wants so eagerly to caress and kiss and feel. Eve is just beautiful, looking up at Isabelle with equal parts of lust and apprehension. And Isabelle crawls over her, boxing her in, before lowering her body so they’re touching from head to foot.

But then she realises they’re still not naked, and she wants that to change  _immediately_.

She pulls back, and unhooks Eve’s bra, flinging it across the room, before she crawls back onto the floor, and in the same backwards movement, drags Eve’s underwear down her legs and off, throwing it with abandon behind her in the same direction her bra went.

Then she sees Eve naked, in front of her, for the first time, and her eyes wander lustfully all over her. All over. She wants it all. She wants it so fucking bad. She needs to feel her. The impulse is so strong she notices the pulse between her own legs.

‘Eve,’ she says, and her voice is already fucked out, ‘you are the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. I--christ, I want to taste you.’

Eve groans and her head drops back on the bed, her arms crossed over her face. She moans, ‘Get naked before I come just from the way you’re looking at me.’

Too eager to comply, Isabelle drops her jeans and pulls off her shoes and socks in the same gesture. Then drags her tshirt off, throwing it over her head, and finally pushing down her underwear and stepping out of it, jumping back on top of Eve as soon as she’s done so.

‘I fucking knew you weren’t wearing a bra,’ Eve grunts as her hands glide over Isabelle’s breasts, her back, her waist, her ass. ‘You’ve been torturing me all day with your nipples pointing out through that damn tshirt. I was so close to putting my mouth on them, whether or not we were in public. Fuck.’

She puts another wet kiss on Isabelle’s lips, and Isabelle involuntarily starts to rut against her, straddling her legs and licking deeply into her mouth, shivering every time their tongues meet. She knows the moment Eve whimpers and tightens her grip on Isabelle’s hips that her wetness has started to gather on the patch of Eve’s thigh where she’s grinding her pussy. 

‘Shit, Isabelle, I--’

‘I said I needed to taste you,’ Isabelle interrupts her, too high to think of anything else. ‘Can I?’

Eve mewls and cups her hands around Isabelle’s breasts again, squeezing when she hears Isabelle’s responding moan against her lips. ‘Yes,’ she pants, finally, in response, ‘but only if I can too. At the same time.’

Isabelle pulls back, staring down at Eve in shock. ‘You mean--you want to--?’

‘Yeah,’ Eve says, her eyes fixed on Isabelle’s mouth. ‘Fuck. So badly. I want to taste you while you taste me.’

Unable to contain how much the words affect her, Isabelle whines loudly and ruts against Eve’s thigh again, knowing it’s start to drip down the inside of her leg.

‘Please, please, please,’ she moans, before Eve takes the initative, and starts to turn beneath her, pivoting on her lower back so that her face is beneath Isabelle’s groin, and Isabelle’s face is met at once with hers.

Isabelle has to close her eyes to gather her strength. She whispers, ‘Tap my arm three times if you want to stop.’

From beneath her, she hears Eve murmur, ‘I’m not going to want to.’ Then she feels Eve’s hands on her ass, pulling her down to the bed, right before she feels Eve’s warm breath fanning out across her wet pussy.

She opens her eyes and gasps, then leans her face down and peeks her tongue out, letting it lightly touch Eve’s clit, which is met with a responsive squeeze on her ass. She wants to tease, she wants to drive Eve delirious, but she feels delirious herself. So, she moves her tongue to caress Eve’s folds, feeling in her mouth the wetness there, the shocking taste of salty sweet wetness, and she moans loud enough that she knows the neighbours will hear.

Eve suddenly pulls on her ass, until she is flush on Eve, and Isabelle panics momentarily, before she feels Eve’s hands pull her down again and squeeze, keeping her locked in place. 

The fact that Eve’s just buried her face in her now unbearably hot and wet pussy is overwhelming. She raises herself onto her elbows and ducks her chin to look down her body, where, over Eve’s breasts, she sees her chin, and then her lips, and then the obscene sight of her tongue, licking. 

She looks away, redirecting her attention to tasting Eve, and she lets herself lean down and feel Eve’s folds around her mouth, nose, chin, licking and tasting her, and she wonders if she’s dreaming.

She feels a new sweat break out as Eve does the same, licks right in between her folds, from her clit, along the innermost parts of her, to her opening. That’s when Eve’s tongue penetrates her, and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her, especially when Eve’s fingers join the endeavour and start to lightly tap on her clit.

Moaning into Eve while Eve moans into her is a sensation Isabelle will never forget. She holds herself back from the edge, and swirls her tongue around Eve’s folds, caressing the inside of her thighs as she does so. She’s sad to not be able to hold Eve’s ass in this position, but the way Eve responds to the light touches tells her it’s more than enough.

It’s so good, it’s so fucking good to taste her, to have all of her laid out, pliant and open. Her body just begs for more, rising to Isabelle’s touch, shivering when she hits the right spot. And the way Eve’s mouth finds ways of sucking and licking and kissing her is heavenly. She wishes only that she could watch Eve do it, really see how her lips move along her pussy, maybe it looks how they moved along the sliders, and that thought alone sinks into Isabelle’s subconscious, and she feels sexier, more desired, more powerful than she ever has before. Eve is eating her. She’s  _eating_ her, and she can’t get enough.

The thought spurs her onto fuelling Eve’s confidence, and she lets her tongue circle Eve’s clit three times before she brings it into her mouth and starts to suck. Eve convulses beneath her, and that’s when Isabelle moves two fingers along her folds, gathering up the indecent amount of wetness there, before she rubs them along Eve’s opening, giving her a gentle warning of what’s to come.

Eve pulls back and Isabelle hears her say, ‘Oh fuck. Baby. Please. Do it. Please.’ 

She doesn’t wait any longer.  The feeling of Eve’s pussy all over her mouth and chin is licentious, outrageous, and she cannot. get. enough. Licking along Eve’s clit again, she sucks it back between her lips, and then shoves two fingers inside her, curving them to find her sensitive spot.

Eve whines high in her throat, her tongue still lapping up Isabelle, and she pants out hot breath against her. She starts to gyrate her hips up against Isabelle’s mouth and fingers, and pulls Isabelle down to copy the movement. Isabelle is dizzy with her craving for this, this incredible moment of absolute freedom, this unyielding pleasure, and she rasps out, ‘Eve, I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers while I tongue you here. Do it for me.’

She doesn’t wait for a reply, just pulls her fingers out a little, while she lets her tongue move around Eve’s vulva once more, until she feels Eve’s hips move up against her. At that moment, she quickly pushes her fingers back in, curling them until she hears Eve mewl with delight again. They fall into a rhythm, Eve grinding upwards, as Isabelle ruts down, and they get lost in it. It’s electrifying, and Isabelle feels taut with arousal, like she’ll snap the next time Eve grabs her ass and plunges her tongue inside her.

They soon reach a fever pitch, rocking against each other with frenzied movements, losing their pace, losing their self-consciousness, groaning and pleading and pulling. Isabelle knows she’s hitting Eve’s spot every time her fingers go inside her, and Eve’s lips and tongue are sending Isabelle to the white-hot promise of orgasm.

Right as she reaches the edge, she warns Eve, ‘I’m gonna--’ just as Eve moans, ‘Baby, come for me.’ Then, without warning, Eve strokes over Isabelle’s asscheek, and then gives it a hard, sharp smack. The shock of the pain sends Isabelle’s pleasure sky-high, and she groans into Eve’s folds, her tongue still flicking over her clit as her now three fingers draw out Eve’s release.

Eve whines when Isabelle’s third finger goes inside, and her voice is much higher-pitched. But then Eve’s hand squeezes Isabelle’s asscheek again, and she realises a split second before it happens--

Eve spanks her, forcefully, and Isabelle’s orgasm just bursts out of her, as she lets her mouth fall open against Eve’s pussy and she moans brokenly into it, losing control of the fact that she’s just come all over Eve’s face. But even in her high, she recognises how--selfishly--that draws out her orgasm even more. Then she hears Eve’s outrageous groan as her tongue laps it up, and she cries out in pleasure.

As she finally comes down, she collapses on top of Eve and gently removes her fingers, leaving sweet kisses over Eve’s thighs, mound, and belly. 

It’s only a few minutes before she’s curled inside Eve’s arms as they both drift off into blissed-out sleep.

\--

The room is bathed in the last amber light of sunset, coming through the slotted blinds and exaggerating every curve of Isabelle and Eve’s still-naked bodies, curved around each other. It smells of sweat and sex, and Isabelle complains about it when she later gets back from the bathroom, so Eve lights the rainstorm-scented candle on their bedside table, and cracks open the window just a bit. 

They settle back down into the still-warm bedsheets, facing each other, and Isabelle drapes an arm across to run her fingers through the hair around Eve’s ear.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Eve murmurs.

Isabelle hums in response, nods her head in permission.

‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but… you said you were still figuring out if you’re genderfluid, genderqueer, agender,’ Eve begins. ‘I--I just wanted to offer you an ear if you wanted help navigating that. I mean. My experience is obviously different. But I kind of get the mental struggle of pinpointing gender identity.’

Isabelle nods again and moves her hand beneath the pillow. As soon as she does, Eve reaches out and repeats the gesture.

‘Yeah,’ Isabelle says, ‘I… I don’t know. Part of the problem is that it’s inconsistent. But some days I wake up and I feel more masculine. So I present that way, and those days, being femme feels really uncomfortable and not at all who I am. But that’s not always true. Because most of the time I present feminine, and besides, I use she/her pronouns anyway, so…’

Listening closely to Isabelle, Eve smiles in support and gently touches her lips, nose, chin, as she speaks. It’s comforting, grounding. 

‘Genderqueer is kind of an umbrella term,’ Isabelle continues, as Eve caresses her eyebrows. ‘It can be referring to a specific identity in its own right, but it includes non-binary, agender, genderfluid, and some people even conflate all of those with trans* identities, too. And it’s great we have so many different permutations and shades of experience on this spectrum, but it also means that I struggle to know which label applies to me, you know?’

Eve glides her hand down Isabelle’s arm and holds her hand under the pillow. ‘Yeah, I hear you.’

‘So, yeah. I mean. It’s stressful sometimes, not fully understand how I work. How I’m supposed to define it. Like, am I a girl? Or am I a boy? Am I neither? Can you shift back and forth between those? How many genders are there? So, most of the time I just use “genderqueer” because it’s a catch-all, and because the fluctuation that encompasses is the easiest for other people to understand.’

‘You don’t need to worry about what’s easy for other people. And I think you can shift back and forth,’ Eve offers. ‘I think you don’t need to worry about the “validity” of that. You don’t have to mould your identity to what other people find the simplest to understand. It’s not about them.’

Isabelle shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I’ve gone back and forth on using “genderfluid” but each time I try and commit, I feel like, I’m somehow faking? Like, I don’t look genderfluid. Some days I look masc. And some days I look androgyous. But most days I look femme. I worry that people get tired of me trying to “catch them out” or whatever.’

At that, Eve furrows her brow. ‘ “Catch them out”? It’s your life. You have to be true to yourself, not what other people find most convenient.’

‘That sounds easier than it is,’ Isabelle replies. ‘And besides, you’re one of the rare ones. You get it, and you care about me at the same time. So, not to be an asshole, but just because you say it doesn’t make it true.’

Eve is slightly taken aback, but knows it’s a sore spot for Isabelle, and so squeezes her hand a little in response, as a reassurance that she’s not hurt.

‘Fuck. Sorry,’ Isabelle murmurs. ‘I just--I don’t know why I cower back from using “genderfluid.” Something about it scares me. I don’t mean to take it out on you.’

‘I’m not offended,’ Eve says, smiling softly. ‘You’re kind of hot when you’re annoyed.’

Isabelle rolls her eyes and laughs a little. ‘Fine. Whatever.’

‘Maybe it’s because “genderfluid” means something else to you than genderqueer — on an emotional level, I mean. Like, it feels like something that sets you apart. Something that makes you feel different in a way that puts you outside your comfort zone.’

Isabelle flinches at that, unable to mask how much Eve has targeted the heart of the matter. The anger that threatens to spill out, born directly of her sensitivity, is caught right behind her teeth, and she swallows it back down. Eve has put into words the essence of her fear, and as huge as it is to admit, she knows she’s right.

‘Fuck,’ Isabelle sighs.

Eve wraps her arm around Isabelle and draws closer, leaving a kiss on her forehead. ‘Whatever it is that puts you outside your comfort zone, please just know that I’m here for you. Like you said, gender is complicated.’

Isabelle huffs and burrows her face further into the pillow. She feels too exposed, too seen. Eve has the power to tear her apart now, in an even more intimate way than before.

‘My pretty boy,’ Eve murmurs as she kisses the corner of Isabelle’s mouth.

And all at once, Isabelle forgets about feeling exposed. She freezes at Eve’s words and her eyes fly open.

‘Such a beautiful boy,’ Eve repeats when she sees Isabelle’s reaction. ‘I bet you drive all the girls crazy.’

Isabelle’s breath is short now and her face is flushed, blood rushing to her head and down between her legs. She had no idea this was a thing. She had no idea this was a thing she’d feel so intensely. She has no idea how Eve intuited it, either.

‘Say that again,’ Isabelle pants, her eyes fixed on Eve’s mouth.

Eve smiles, smug, and leans forward so her lips glance off Isabelle’s when she speaks. 

‘My pretty little boy.’

Isabelle lunges at her, pushes her onto her back, and hooks Eve’s legs over her thighs til they bracket her waist. She dives in, kissing frantically, pulling on Eve’s hair, palming her tits, her mind hazy with confused desire.

‘You like that, huh?’ Eve says against her. ‘Being my femme boy. Shit, I love it when you get like this.’

Isabelle huffs out a laugh and leans back in to bite and kiss Eve’s neck.

‘I bet my pretty boy has a pretty big dick, too, huh,’ Eve continues, and Isabelle’s heart stops. She pulls back, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide. There’s a moment of tense silence between them, and Eve looks for a second like she’s worried she’s crossed a line, but Isabelle realises with a twist of arousal that Eve is just as into it as she is.

‘I called it,’ Eve says, breaking the tension with a joke. ‘My hot boy has Big Dick Energy,  _and_ a big dick.’

Isabelle perks up. And suddenly gets an idea that makes her thighs shake.

‘Yeah he does,’ she replies, mouth dry with anticipation.

Eve furrows her brows at that. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve been neck deep in--’

Isabelle smirks and interrupts her. ‘I keep it in my drawer. You wanna see?’

A long pause draws out between them. At the realisation of what Isabelle is offering, Eve’s jaw drops and she grips Isabelle tighter.

‘You wanna see?’ Isabelle asks again.

Eve doesn’t reply, but kisses her deeply.

‘No,’ Eve says at last, ‘I want you to fuck me with it.’

\--

Isabelle can’t believe what she sees. The reality is too fantastic to comprehend. 

‘Oh shit,’ she breathes, bringing a hand to the back of Eve’s head, twisting her fingers in her beautiful long hair.

Eve closes her eyes and goes further down, her cheeks hollowing. She’s kneeling on the floor between Isabelle’s legs, and pops off the strapless dildo vibrator to trace her fingers along where the other end of it is snug inside Isabelle.

‘I love sucking your dick, baby,’ she whispers, and Isabelle groans low in her throat. She didn’t even know she had this kink. But Eve draws it out of her, and that just adds to the arousal. 

Eve’s fingers caress her clit now, and Isabelle moves her legs over Eve’s shoulders as she drops her head back, her arms about to give out beneath her.

‘I want you inside me, Is,’ Eve says confidently, and she pushes her back on the bed, straddling her legs and thrusting the bottle of lube into Isabelle’s hands.

‘Get yourself wet for me,’ Eve demands as she ruts against Isabelle’s thigh. 

All of it is overwhelming. Isabelle has been with her, near her, on her, in her all day, and she’s still frantic with desire. She takes one look at Eve’s naked body and suddenly feels like she’s never been touched in her life. The sensation of her skin, all that beautiful skin, against hers, is amazing, the best high: and all she wants is to touch her, lick her, whisper in her ear how deep inside her she already is, how she can do anything she wants, just make her fall apart. She knows they’ll always put each other back together.

Isabelle upends the lube and messily slathers it across the vibrator, right as Eve turns on the vibrating function. 

‘Shit, baby, are you sure you don’t wanna wait until--’

‘I’m so fucking ready, Is, please shut up.’

‘Ok.’

Eve raises herself over the vibrator and guides it back to her opening. The sight of Eve about to sink down on her cock has Isabelle’s heart pumping out of her chest. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She just wants to roll her over and fuck into her like her life depends on it.

But Eve holds herself above it, bracing her weight by putting her hands behind her, resting on top of Isabelle’s thighs. Then, when Isabelle nods, Eve lowers herself inch by inch. Isabelle can’t decide whether to look at her pussy or her face, both are intoxicating, both make her want to shout already. Eve is blissed out, a small crease on her forehead showing where it hadn’t been before, and Isabelle already loves it. She loves her. This thought anchors her, falls down profoundly within her, and more than ever she feels the desperate need to prove it.

‘Oh fuck,’ Eve pants, as she takes it all, her ass now flush with Isabelle’s pussy, and Isabelle lets out a similar groan when the dildo shifts inside her. The angle it’s now at is dangerously close to her g-spot.

Eve begins immediately bouncing on Isabelle’s dildo, and is lost at once to the feeling. Helping her as much as she can while static with lust, Isabelle places her hands under Eve’s ass and takes some of her weight, fucking up into her with every encouraging moan she hears.

‘Oh--Isabelle--fuck--oh fuck--’

‘Yeah that’s it,’ Isabelle grunts, as she presses the button that pushes the vibration up to the next setting, to which Eve lets out a loud and obscene moan.

‘You like getting fucked like this, don’t you?’ Isabelle asks, knowing how high Eve already is, but wanting to send her even higher. And knowing that Eve’s weakness is dirty talk, she utilises her newfound surety to push it further.

‘Yeah you love it when I pound you with my dick, don’t you,’ she demands, and Eve screws her eyes shut, a high wail dropping from her lips.

‘And I love seeing it,’ she continues, ‘god I love seeing you bounce on it.’ 

Eve snaps to attention and looks down at Isabelle. ‘Are you--oh fuck--are you gonna keep talking like that?’

Nodding, Isabelle plants her feet on the bed and starts to thrust up into Eve. She brings her hands to hair and mewls profanely. Isabelle’s gut twists when she realises the neighbours will hear. She wants them to hear. Fuck, she wouldn’t mind if they  _saw_ \-- and then she gets another idea.

‘Yeah,’ Isabelle mutters, ‘I love it. You’re so gorgeous when you’re getting fucked. The only thing I’d like more is seeing someone else fuck you while I watched. See all of you being pleasured like that. Hear you just like this. You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you? What if we got Gillian Anderson to do it, huh? Fuck you from behind while I watched in front, touching myself to the two of you?’

Eve screams out another moan, and looks down at Isabelle in desperation. ‘I’m so-- close--’

This is it, Isabelle realises. Eve is trusting her. And Isabelle has to make this good, has to make her first orgasm like this as good as it can be.

‘My gorgeous girl,’ Isabelle says, her hands running up and down Eve’s torso, squeezing her tits. She knows as soon as Eve comes, she will too, she won’t be able to hold it back any longer. The sight of her is just too much, loose and free and writhing.

‘Yeah I’d watch you take it like this,’ Isabelle mutters, as Eve’s moans get higher and higher. ‘Watch you and then tell her how to fuck you properly. Fuck you how you like it.’

At that, Isabelle flips them over, Eve’s eyes going wide at the change in position, before Isabelle forces her legs up so her knees are at her breasts.

Then, she thrusts in and grunts out, ‘I’d tell her to fuck you like this.’ And then she puts the vibrator at its highest setting and falls into a fast rhythm of pistoning her hips, lapping up the encouraging groans and shouts that come from Eve’s mouth.

‘Yes-- right-- there--’

Isabelle dips her face down and locks eyes with Eve, who understands without being told to keep her eyes open.

‘Look at me when you come,’ Isabelle orders. ‘Ok?’

Eve nods, delirious with being kept on the edge, and pulls Isabelle in by the hips, muttering a string of curses and pleas.

Isabelle feels her own orgasm build rapidly, at a velocity that’s almost painful, and then she grabs hold of Eve’s hands and pushes them into the mattress on either side of her head.

‘Come.’

With the word, Eve’s eyes roll back in her head and Isabelle moves down to meet her neck, arched like her back, as Eve’s orgasm breaks through and powers through her. She lets rip a shout that is as loud as it is obscene, and that’s all it takes for Isabelle to tip over the edge as the vibrator presses against her g-spot with sharp accuracy. 

She sees white, as the heat that courses through her is matched only with the slick sensation of sweat and wetness around her thighs. And then she distantly recognises that Eve squirted, and instantly she hits another orgasm, involuntary and violent. Her whole body seizes with breathless tension, before she lets out a last groan and falls onto Eve, floating and spent.

The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is a deep and contented, ‘I love you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  yes i know that was quite a lot for one evening. thanks to the Comm for being the place I felt brave enough to share this in the first place, and give me such support for this little AU. <3
> 
> i'm working on til slutt at the moment, so will update that next. <3 take care of yourselves this weekend, lovelies.


	3. pynk is my favourite part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle and Eve reach a milestone, and Eve overcomes a big mental block. So much fluff, followed by some shameless smut <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to continue this lil fic but the lovely TabithaAnne & coolauntskam are very persuasive. So here it is, enjoy <3
> 
> (I don't think there are any triggers for this chapter that aren't already covered in previous ones, let me know if there are <3)

‘Eve, seriously, don’t stress about it--’

‘It’s a big deal!’

‘It’s really not. Please don’t make it out to be a big thing.’

‘Your contrived casual attitude is not helping.’

Isabelle sighs again as she leans against Eve’s bedroom wall. Meanwhile, Eve pulls off another pair of tights and throws them on the increasing pile on her bed. She takes off the dress, too, and gets out a pair of jeans from the wardrobe, then pulls on the black turtleneck and tucks it into her waistband. 

‘That was the first thing you tried on, babe,’ Isabelle supplies unhelpfully.

Eve doesn’t respond, only turns to look at her full-length mirror and analyse the outfit again.

‘I--I don’t know--’

Isabelle takes out her phone and says, ‘Well, you have another minute to decide because otherwise we’re gonna be late.’

‘What!’ Eve cries, whirling around, ‘you said it was 18.00?’

‘Yeah. Then you tried on every article of clothing you own. And now it’s nearly 19.00,’ Isabelle replies, unmoved.

‘Fuck!’ Eve mutters, flitting about the room to gather her phone and bag and keys. ‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck--’

‘It’ll take us half an hour, we’re fine, so long as we leave now,’ Isabelle adds, trying to placate her now very stressed out girlfriend as they head towards the door.

‘I should’ve kept the dress,’ Eve mutters, gently pushing Isabelle in front of her to move faster. ‘These jeans are way too informal. And not feminine enough.’

At that, Isabelle turns heel and stops. She puts both hands on Eve’s arms to arrest her movement.

‘What are you  _doing_ , we don’t have  _time_ \--’ Eve protests.

Isabelle ignores her, and moves her hands to cup Eve’s face. ‘Baby,’ she says, hushed.

Eve’s face falls a little when she realises what she’s just said. And that Isabelle is going to pull her up on it. ‘Don’t say things like that,’ Isabelle continues.

Eve grimaces and sighs. She keeps her gaze fixed away from Isabelle’s. ‘It’s true,’ she whispers.

‘Nei,’ Isabelle says. ‘You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, not to them. You’re beautiful as you are. Just as you are. They know that. I know that. Trust us.’

So slowly, Eve shakes her head. Isabelle isn’t sure if it’s in disagreement or if it’s to keep back the tears. Either way, Isabelle knows she has to correct this. Though Eve hates talking about her insecurities, hates how it makes her feel as frayed and sensitive as an exposed nerve, Isabelle pushes harder now, more than she usually does.

‘You’re valid,’ she says firmly. ‘Do you hear me? You are valid.’

Eve takes in a long, shaky breath. She squeezes Isabelle’s hands with her own. Then she looks up.

‘I’ve never-- my parents, they never--’

Isabelle nods, then holds their foreheads together, hoping some physical touch will reassure Eve, whose voice shakes to a stop. 

An explanation is not needed, now. Isabelle knows the intimate details of how Eve’s parents continue to deadname her, misgender her, and on occasion ignore her. She knows that they told her she was ‘hanging out with the wrong people’ when came out to them as pan. She knows that they cut off all support when Eve came out to them as trans*. She knows that they occasionally check in with her when they get a twinge of a guilty conscience, only to continually dismiss any of her requests for them to respect her identity.

‘Your parents don’t deserve you,’ Isabelle says when Eve doesn’t continue. Eve closes her eyes for a few seconds. When Isabelle kisses her gently, so gently, she slowly opens them.

They silently check in with each other. No words necessary. 

Isabelle looks into Eve’s eyes with a question and Eve looks back with a steady answer. She nods.

‘Ok,’ Isabelle says into the small space between them, right before she leans in and kisses Eve again, as softly as she can. She wants it to be reassuring, to be comforting. The faint sound Eve makes as they separate tells her she did it right.

\--

They hold hands as they turn the corner. It’s just stopped raining and the street is still bright and damp from that morning’s shower. Eve’s palm is clammy against Isabelle’s, and she holds it tighter as they near the house.

‘They’re going to  _love_ you,’ Isabelle says, honestly, as they walk up the garden path.

‘Yeah?’ Eve asks.

Isabelle turns to her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Yes,’ she says, definitively. ‘Just like I do.’

At that, Eve beams, and she doesn’t hesitate to lean back into Isabelle’s space and leave a kiss on her lips, still smiling.

‘It still feels weird,’ Eve says, right when Isabelle is about to ring the doorbell.

‘What does?’

‘It’s been four months but I feel like…’ Eve trails off, then regroups. ‘That’s barely any time compared to how I feel about you. I feel like-- you’re it. For me, I mean. You’re it.’

Isabelle feels the tears gather in her eyes and for a moment is too overwhelmed to speak. But she squeezes Eve’s hand and replies, ‘You’re it for me, too,’ gazing over at her with pure love.

‘Damn,’ Eve says, a little breathless. ‘Does this mean we can’t have a threesome anymore?’

A beat passes. Then Isabelle groans in annoyance and forcefully rings the doorbell. ‘Why d’you have to ruin the moment.’

‘I didn’t!’ Eve rebuts, laughing, ‘I was genuinely asking!’

But before Isabelle can properly argue, the door opens.

‘Isabelle!’ her mama, Tove, cries, holding out both arms for a hug. ‘It’s good to see you, sweetie. And you look so well! Ah, and this,’ she says, pulling back and looking at Eve, ‘ _this_  must be the charmer you’ve kept all to yourself for far too long.’ 

‘Faen,’ Isabelle mutters, bringing a hand to her face, as her mama gathers Eve into a big bear hug.

‘You’re so welcome here,’ Tove whispers into Eve’s ear as they embrace. Eve melts.

‘Now, girls,’ Tove says, when she’s standing back again and looking them both up and down with an appraising glance, ‘dinner is nearly ready, but I’ll need help with setting the table. So let’s get started.’

She pushes the front door in and ushers both girls in front of her, giving Eve a warm smile as she walks over the threshold. 

Isabelle’s house is just as she described it: warm, messy, lived-in. Framed photos adorn every surface. It smells like cinnamon and peatsmoke. The heat as they enter the house is enough to make them immediately shuck their winter gear. Faint music is playing in the kitchen, something ambient and in what sounds like Sami. (Upon investigation, Tove informs Eve it’s one of her favourite Sami bands, Adjágas.)

‘Where’s  _pappa_?’ Isabelle asks as she takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack inside the door.

‘Your pappa is out tinkering with something in the garden, god only knows what,’ Tove responds, taking Eve’s coat off for her. ‘You should go out there so he can meet Eve!’

‘And  _far_?’ Isabelle asks, taking her shoes off, too.

‘Your lovely  _far_ is gone out to get me some fresh basil and cream,’ Tove says, over her shoulder, as she darts back into the kitchen.

Eve is still pulling her shoes off and can’t help the fond smile on her face as she hears the love in Tove’s voice. The food, she suddenly notices, smells incredible, too. Garlic and butter and something deeper, like spicy sausage slowly frying. That’s when she feels Isabelle’s hand reach out for hers and she looks back to her girlfriend. 

‘You ready to meet one of my dads?’ Isabelle asks with a grin.

‘I guess,’ Eve says in response, trying to hide the nerves welling up inside.

Isabelle keeps her close as they walk through the hallway, the kitchen where Tove is pouring dried pasta into a pot of salted boiling water (and sends them a knowing wink as she does so), and out the back door to the garden.

The garden is beautifully kept — mowed grass in the middle, and bordered on nearly all sides by a medley of huge colourful overgrown flowers, then plants and herbs, and finally vegetables. In one corner is the garden shed where Isabelle’s pappa, Jørgen, is repotting tomato plants.

‘Hei,’ Isabelle announces, as she knocks on the battered wooden door.

Jørgen whirls around, and when his eyes land on Isabelle, he shouts in joy and raises both arms in the air, bits of soil scattering everywhere around the two-foot-square space.

‘Issy!’ he yells, jumping forward to wrap her in a big hug.

‘ _Pappa_ ,’ she complains, pushing back, but only in fake protest. Eve recognises the look of shy delight on her face.

Jørgen just holds her tighter and then peppers kisses on her cheeks, his hands still in rough gardening gloves, secateurs sticking out of his back pocket, grass stains on his knees. The homeliness of it strikes a sour note of jealousy in Eve’s heart, but she tamps it down and braces herself to be introduced.

‘So,’ Jørgen says as he leans back from Isabelle, turning his face to Eve with a sly smile, ‘you must be Eve. Welcome, love.’

He immediately wraps both arms around Eve in a gentle hug, and Eve can’t put her finger on why exactly but she feels undeserving of this amount of love, like she hasn’t properly earned it yet.

When Jørgen stands back again, he cups a hand on each of Isabelle and Eve’s cheeks, and glances happily between them. ‘You’re a sweet couple,’ he says, warmly, and Isabelle rolls her eyes, smacking his hand away with an embarrassed, ‘ _Pappa_!’ 

But Eve thinks only of how much she’s yearned for this kind of parental affection — and now it’s lavished on her, she doesn’t know how to react.

‘Where’s your  _far_?’ Jørgen asks, ripping open a new bag of compost.

‘Gone out for basil and cream, apparently,’ Isabelle replies. Her eyes dart around the shed, and land on a small ivy plant, which she dead-leafs to help it branch out.

‘Oooh! Is mamma making her chorizo pasta bake?’ Jørgen asks excitedly.

‘Smells like it,’ Isabelle says, a smile growing on her face. ‘She knows it’s my favourite, so I wouldn’t put it past her.’

Jørgen smiles and digs out a handful of compost, tucking it between the plant and the pot, pressing down with his knuckles to get more in. ‘Wait til you see what she’s got for dessert,’ he mutters with a hint of delight.

Isabelle sizes him up. ‘Is it rabarbrapai?’

He shakes his head, seemingly enjoying the mystery. ‘Not telling.’

Isabelle sighs, displeased that she’s not getting her way. She also stops grooming the plant and looks over to Eve.

‘Speaking of - we should head in and set the table,’ she says.

‘And I need to finish repotting this,’ Jørgen adds, gesturing back to his tomato plant. ‘I’ll see you both inside.’

Eve nods at him and turns back to the house, Isabelle following close behind.

Once they’re out of earshot of the shed, Eve asks, ‘How did I do?’ And she knows she can’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.

Isabelle chuckles quietly. ‘Pappa only allows hugs from family members. I think you did fine.’

The implication makes Eve’s heart stop. She glances back to Isabelle, who gives her a lopsided grin and then kisses her on the cheek.

‘Told you,’ she says.

\--

Half an hour later, Eve sits down at the dining table — next to Tove, at her insistence, with Isabelle on her other side — so she’s facing both Jørgen and the empty chair to be taken by Isabelle’s  _far_ , Marius.

‘Where  _is_ that man?’ Tove complains, as she brings in the cast-iron square dish and sets it in the middle of the table. Eve’s mouth waters on sight of the pasta bake inside, with melted cheese on top of chorizo, basil, and cream. So much so, she barely listens to any of the conversation around her.

‘He said he’d be back down in a minute,’ Jørgen reminds her. 

‘Dinner’s going to go cold!’ she cries, and then immediately turns to Eve. ‘Honey, please forgive us for being so scattered. I’d say it was avoidable but for us it’s not, I’m afraid. That’s what you get with a family of water signs.’

‘Hey, I’m a Gemini,’ Isabelle protests.

‘Right on the cusp with Cancer,’ Tove rebuts.

Isabelle opens her mouth again to argue, but Eve cuts in. ‘I’m an Aquarius,’ she offers, hoping to sidetrack Isabelle’s imminent obstinacy.

‘Ooh an air sign!’ Tove says, her eyes widening with delight at the information. ‘When is your birthday?’

‘12th of February.’

‘Oh wow, right there next to Valentine’s Day,’ Tove observes, smiling happily. ‘No wonder you’re such a sweetheart.’  

Eve doesn’t know how to respond to that, and is overcome again at the Valtersens showing such love on such little acquaintance. She blushes from neck to forehead and looks down at her hands. That’s when Isabelle reaches over and holds one of them in hers underneath the table. Eve glances up at her and sees the small mischievous smile she loves so much.

She’s here, she’s really here, with Isabelle and her family, who do everything with love and acceptance. And they accept her into their lives, too. The thought is humbling. The way Isabelle laces their fingers together still makes her heart race a bit. The fact that something as arbitrary and simple as her birthday is enough for Tove to give her a compliment makes her wonder if this could actually be her family someday.

‘Apologies,’ mutters a gruff voice from the hallway, accompanied with heavy footsteps down the stairs. ‘I know I’m holding everyone up.’

‘Honestly Marius,’ Tove says, disapprovingly, but there’s fondness in her voice all the same. ‘What were you doing up there?’

Marius enters, appropriately clad in a Marius sweater — which Eve doesn’t understand, how can anyone wear a jumper in the heat of this house? — and holds aloft a small brown paper bag. ‘I didn’t want us to forget this,’ he says.

‘Of course!,’ Jørgen says, pulling out the chair for Marius.

‘What’s that?’ Isabelle asks, looking back and forth between her dads.

‘It’s for Eve,’ Marius huffs, handing the bag across the table to her, a frown deep between his eyebrows. Isabelle had warned Eve that he was like that — a little rough around the edges and abrupt, but caring and kind.

Eve blanches at the offer of a gift, surprised and embarrassed and unsure all at once. ‘Uh — for me?’

‘Yes honey!’ Tove says, clapping her hands together. ‘Take it!’

Reaching across the table, Eve accepts the bag from Marius, who nods once before folding his arms and reverting his attention to Jørgen. ‘Did you resoil the peashoots yet?’

‘Only got as far as the tomatoes,’ Jørgen replies, extending his arm around the back of Marius’ chair. 

Marius rolls his eyes and lets out a long, frustrated breath. ‘Jørg I  _told_ you, the tomatoes can wait, we should--’ 

But he gets cut off when Jørgen leans over and leaves a kiss on his lips. ‘Alright, honey,’ Jørgen replies, and Marius looks over at him, in silent disapproval at being so overtly ignored, but not enough to protest — being a little too flattered by the display of affection. Eve recognises the look from Isabelle, and at once realises where she got it from.

Eve’s so taken with the scene unfolding in front of her that she forgets she’s holding a gift. 

‘Eve, sweetie,’ Tove prompts. ‘Open it.’

She starts at that, and looks down into the bag in her lap. There’s tissue paper covering whatever is inside, and she pulls it back to peer further in. When she does, her heart stops.

Tucking the tissue paper away, she reaches in and holds a fistful of the knitted present, before taking it from the bag, and unfolding it to reveal a homemade forest-green sweater. 

‘We took turns,’ Jørgen explains, extending his right hand to lightly touch Tove’s arm. She nods, her eyes bright.

‘It’s made of Bergschaf wool,’ Marius supplies, his arms folded in place. ‘You know. It’s good. For the-- for the cold.’

‘Everyone in the family has one,’ Isabelle explains, her hand squeezing Eve’s lightly, now. 

The gesture is incredible. And Eve has no idea what to say. She’s overcome, yet again, and tries to focus on being a good guest. 

‘It’s … absolutely beautiful,’ Eve admits softly, her hand gliding over the different knitted designs, purl stitch, some cable and twist, the diamond lattice patterns. ‘I don’t know what to say. I-- I’m really touched. Thank you. All of you.’ 

She looks around at each of them — Marius, gruff but secretly pleased; Jørgen, beaming and relaxed; Tove, eager and proud; Isabelle, contented and adoring — and holds the jumper tighter in her hands. 

She feels it deep in her gut, that feeling of surety. 

This is home. This is what family is. This is what real love feels like.

‘You’re welcome,’ Tove says, before she squeezes Jørgen’s shoulder. They look at each other in a way that only comes with years of intimacy. Marius shoots Tove a wink over Jørgen’s head. 

They’re all equally in love, Eve realises with a slow wonder, they’re all together.

‘Alright, enough of that, let’s eat!’ Marius says, as Tove digs the serving spoon into layers of pasta, sauce, and spices, and the food replaces all unease with pure comfort.

\--

Isabelle falls back on her childhood duvet cover. ‘I’m not moving. For at least half an hour. Fuck.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Eve huffs, as she inspects the wall of photos above Isabelle’s desk. ‘You only had two pieces of rabarbrapai.’

‘That’s not counting the other piece I had when we were cleaning up,’ Isabelle sighs. ‘Or the extra custard.’

‘Fy faen,’ Eve laughs, turning to look at her near-comatose girlfriend, ‘you have no self-control, do you?’

‘Nei,’ Isabelle responds with a mixture of pride and regret. ‘It’s fine, my stomach will just expand to accommodate it and I won’t feel sick anymore.’

‘Y’know this is why your parents all went out for a walk around Frognerparken.’

‘That, or they figured we’d get to fucking and they didn’t want to hear it,’ Isabelle rebuts.

Dumbfounded, Eve’s mouth drops open and she stares down at Isabelle. ‘I’m sorry  _what_?’

‘Just sayin,’ Isabelle mumbles as she closes her eyes and lays her arms out next to her head.

‘You talk about your parents hearing us having sex with  _way_ too much nonchalance,’ Eve says, still horrified. Then, when Isabelle doesn’t react, she starts to unravel. 

‘Is, are you-- are you telling me they sexiled themselves from their own house?’ 

On the bed, Isabelle cracks open one eye to look at Eve, unimpressed, before she shrugs and closes her eye again.

‘Oh Christ. I-- I won’t be able to look them in the eye after this,’ Eve says, her head spinning as she realises that Isabelle’s parents have made arrangements to mitigate the consequences of Eve  _fucking_ their  _daughter_. ‘After being so lovely to me all evening, and now this--’

‘Evy, baby, relax,’ Isabelle groans from the bed. ‘Just lie down next to me for a second, all your stress is making me nauseous.’

‘Just tell me if they left because they thought we’d fuck in your childhood bedroom. I just need to know if that’s a thing that is gonna be …  a thing,’ Eve explains, her hands gripping the back of Isabelle’s deskchair so firmly that her knuckles are white.

Isabelle sighs and rolls onto her side. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not unusual for them to go out for a walk after dinner. It’s just different when you’re here and I’m not rolling around watching Netflix or something. Don’t worry. I meant it as a joke. And maybe a hint,’ she says, curling onto the duvet.

‘A hint?’ Eve repeats, with a small smile.

‘Yeah, a hint,’ Isabelle says, a small smile of her own showing, though her eyes are still closed.

‘Well I haven’t taken in all of your childhood bedroom — sex haven though it must be — so you’re gonna have to wait on me taking the hint,’ Eve replies, moving to Isabelle’s window to inspect the jars of seaglass and shells she’s collected over the years.

‘Evvvyyy,’ Isabelle complains. ‘That’s boring. Just come over here and let me finger you.’

‘Is this seaglass from Bygdøy?’ Eve asks, ignoring Isabelle’s bait.

‘Some of it. Most is from Hovedøya. Hey, in the drawer next to you there’s an old bullet vibrator. Let’s see if it still works.’

‘Y’know I’ve never thought to collect seaglass,’ Eve muses, ‘It’s so beautiful. And exactly your colour scheme, all light blues and deep greens…’ 

Eve moves slowly to Isabelle’s bookshelf, her hands lightly touching most of the thing she sees. Isabelle’s childhood room is like a museum, perfectly kept with all the things she grew up with, untouched since she was 18 and left for university. She wants to treat it like it’s precious history — because it is.

Then Isabelle speaks again, ‘Can you stop writing a fucking thesis about how much my room turns you on and please take your clothes off?’

‘Oooh you have  _Orlando_? I’ve always meant to read it,’ Eve says, as she takes Isabelle’s copy off the shelf and thumbs through it. ‘I love Woolf. I read  _A Room Of One’s Own_ a few months ago. And  _To the Lighthouse_ a few months before that. Her prose is so clear and so lyrical, I don’t know how she does it.’

Isabelle grunts disapprovingly from the bed. ‘You’re ignoring me,’ she whines. ‘Why are you ignoring me, I’m  _dying_.’

‘I’m not ignoring you,’ Eve says, her eyes skimming through the book. ‘I’ve just got selective hearing.’

‘Y’know instead of getting wet over my book collection we could be watching a movie. You love that. Or having a bath. I love that. Or ranking the hotness of the  _Jurassic Park_ cast. We  _both_ love that. Hell, let’s read poetry to each other. My only condition is we must do these activities topless, it’s just the rules.’

‘Oh fy faen, look at this picture of you as a kid!’ Eve cries, bypassing Isabelle’s complaining entirely when her eyes fall on a small framed photo of Isabelle around 6 or 7 years old, in a Christmas jumper, holding a teddy bear twice as big as herself.

‘Yeah yeah,’ Isabelle says, as she barely lifts her head from the duvet, only to put it back down again. ‘Anyway, what I was saying about your top--’

‘My top? I thought you were my top?’ Eve asks, gleeful, as she twists Isabelle’s words.

Isabelle huffs out a laugh and throws an arm over her face.

‘Or did you mean  _my top_ as in, the top in me? Like — you want me to top?’ Eve continues, unable to keep the smirk off her face. 

Isabelle doesn’t respond. Her face is hidden by her arm, so Eve can’t tell her expression, but the silence is tense: she’s lying down on the bed but she seems rigid, not relaxed. Eve decides to push a little, and see where it goes — she’s had a suspicion about where this might lead for a while, now.

‘Babe? Care to comment?’

‘I was talking about you taking  _off_ your top,’ Isabelle retorts, turning onto her side and bringing her arm down to support her head. She faces Eve again. 

Eve sees how Isabelle’s cheeks are a little flushed, how her voice is a little too casual. Her suspicions increase.

‘Well let’s see what options I have to change into,’ Eve deflects, moving over to the wardrobe.

‘Nei!’ Isabelle protests, but it’s too late — Eve’s already swung both doors open and is perusing the closet full of Isabelle’s teenage outfits.

‘Dear lord,’ Eve gasps, as she pulls out a hanger holding an oversized, baggy black hoodie with a huge  _Guns N’ Roses_ insignia on the back. ‘This is … wow.’

‘Oh goddamnit,’ Isabelle groans, hiding her face in her hands.

‘When did you have your 80s rock phase, babe?’ Eve asks, gleeful again at having Isabelle squirming on the bed.

‘I was  _fifteen_ , alright, give me a break--’

‘Were you fifteen when you thought  _this_ was fashion?’ Eve continues, taking out a hanger with a pair of flared jeans, with cartoonish hearts embroidered along the side.

‘It was the early 2000s! I’m not responsible for what was in vogue--’

Eve is having too much fun to stop, and so rifles through and finds a well-worn pair of dungarees with rips in the knees. 

‘Oh babe, this is actually really cute,’ Eve says, holding the dungarees up against her torso to let Isabelle see. ‘You should wear this again. Be a sexy Holtzmann coming to scare all my ghosts away,’ she adds with a wink.

Isabelle grunts out a sound of disapproval and Eve throws the dungarees over the deskchair so they remember to bring them away.

When she turns back to the wardrobe, however, her eyes catch on something else, something she can hardly believe is there.

‘Issy,’ she says, reverently, as her hands touch the navy fabric and run along the gold buttons.

‘What?’ Isabelle replies, deadpan, unable to see beyond the wardrobe door to what Eve has found.

‘You never told me you were in the marching band at Grefsen?’

It takes a moment for the connection to form in Isabelle’s mind. When it does, she springs up from the bed and lunges for the wardrobe.

‘Nei nei nei nei! You’re not supposed to see that!’ she shouts.

Eve bats her off and takes out the hanger with Isabelle’s old uniform for a better look. ‘Excuse me, we were talking about how you were in  _a marching band!_ ’

‘It was for 17. Mai, ok,’ Isabelle groans, ‘I did it one time because mama’s friend needed someone to make up the numbers--’

‘What did you play?’ Eve asks, one hand on the hanger, the other on Isabelle’s sternum, keeping her at arm’s length from taking the uniform away.

‘I … didn’t,’ Isabelle replies shortly.

‘You didn’t?’ Eve asks slowly. 

Isabelle keeps unblinking eye contact with Eve, and then the truth finally dawns on her. 

‘Oh holy  _shit_ ,’ Eve shouts, ‘you were the drum major! You led the whole thing! That’s why there’s a fucking baton on the bottom of the closet!’

Isabelle rolls her eyes. But there’s a vulnerability there Eve hasn’t seen before, especially while Isabelle is fumbling for a response.

‘It’s embarrassing, I know,’ Isabelle says at last.

‘Embarrassing?’ Eve repeats. Clearly Isabelle has no idea how the mere  _idea_ of her in a marching band outfit is working for her girlfriend. ‘What are you talking about?’

Isabelle huffs and gestures at the outfit. ‘It’s not cute. I-- I get that it’s a major turn-off … that I was such a weird kid.’

It takes a few moments for the meaning behind Isabelle’s words to get through. She thinks it’s a turn-off. She thinks Eve doesn’t  _like_ it. She thinks Eve might not be as ridiculously  _into it_ as she is.

‘You must be joking,’ Eve says, disbelieving, as she backs Isabelle against the wardrobe door, drops the hanger, and puts both hands on Isabelle’s tits as she licks into her mouth.

Isabelle lets out a surprised sound as Eve pushes against her with her entire body, but quickly realises that Eve’s just really into it, that she  _likes_ the idea of Isabelle in a uniform. Maybe it’s how androgynous they can be. Maybe it’s the sharp fit. Maybe it’s because Eve somewhere deep down already knows that Isabelle liked how she felt in masculine clothes, that it helped her figure out how she felt inside.

With Eve suddenly keyed up in a way Isabelle hadn’t expected, she’s keen to slip back into their usual mode when things get heavy. She grabs Eve’s left leg and raises it, so her knee is hiked up above Isabelle’s waist. Eve’s hands are everywhere, on her sides, on her ass, in her hair — Isabelle can barely believe how quickly Eve’s been turned on by this.

She leans back and lets Eve kiss down her neck. ‘You want to see me wear it while I fuck you?’ she asks, already breathless, and not hugely looking forward to squeezing back into the formalwear. But it’s for Eve. And she’ll do anything for Eve.

Eve stops licking Isabelle’s neck and pulls back, staring heavily at her. She shakes her head slowly with a smile.

Isabelle is confused at this, but assumes she’s on the right track. ‘You want to wear it while you go down on me?’

Smiling wider, Eve still shakes her head, her fingers slowly inching past Isabelle’s waistband, and down, and down, and down.

The realisation hits Isabelle with what Eve actually wants. And Isabelle doesn’t know how to respond. 

It’s obvious now, how Eve’s been slowly building up to this. The gentle questions about Isabelle’s favourite position. The occasional joke about Isabelle wanting to lose control the right way. The comment earlier tonight about being the top.

But Isabelle’s not used to be dominated. She prefers calling the shots. She likes the power that comes with control. And Eve’s never really  _asked_ to top before. This is all uncharted territory, and Isabelle is frozen in place while the wheels turn in her head.

Eve’s hand is still moving down, her fingers reaching down over her mound, til she touches Isabelle’s clit lightly, like a tease, and whispers in her ear a firm confirmation: ‘No. I don’t want that.’

Isabelle is stock-still, the surprise washing through her, but her eyelids are hooded, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s panting. Eve can sense that she wants it. But she also knows Isabelle well enough to know she’s battling an internal conflict — she’s resistant to being submissive, but the wetness on Eve’s fingers is enough to indicate that she likes Eve getting bossy.

She hasn’t taken her eyes off of Isabelle this entire time, and she sees how Isabelle’s pupils dilate widely when Eve flicks her clit again. And Eve realises Isabelle needs to resist, so that Eve can counter even more. That this is part of Isabelle wanting so, so badly to be dominated — but to be dominated in the right way.

And sure enough, Isabelle pipes up, with as much indifference as she can feign, ‘Are you sure I’m going to like what you want?’ 

But Eve just smirks at her, and gives her a filthy kiss, while two of her fingers circle Isabelle’s clit with the lightest of touches, that make Isabelle shiver, and pant, and whine into Eve’s mouth.

That’s confirmation enough for Eve’s suspicions. Based on past experience, by now Isabelle would have uttered their safeword and called timeout. She wants Eve to take the initiative. She wants to protest, so that Eve ups the ante. She wants Eve to go all-out, and not stop til she’s entirely falling apart. And if Eve doesn’t meet the mark, she wants to hold onto the pride that lets her pretend she never wanted any of that in the first place.

Eve pulls back, to which Isabelle lets out a whine of protest, and then smugly says, ‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I mean, look at you. You’re already weak for it.’

Eager as always to put up a fight, Isabelle puts her hands inside Eve’s underwear, around her ass, teasing fingers between Eve’s asscheeks until they go further, more, and they’re touching her rim. Eve lets out a small barely-there gasp, and Isabelle tries to assert some dominance by raising her eyebrow and whispering, ‘I’m not the only one who’s weak for it.’

But Eve isn’t thrown at all. She knows she’s going to win tonight. And Isabelle can see the confidence all over her face. She’s so annoyed, but also so fucking turned on that Eve can just do this now.

Eve just glances her lips off of Isabelle’s, and Isabelle automatically tilts her head up to kiss properly, but Eve leans back — and they’re in the power play again. Isabelle knows she’s shown how desperate she is in that gesture alone.

Eve drags Isabelle’s shirt off without a word, and then pulls down her jeans and underwear, and then just stares at her, naked, while Eve is still fully dressed, standing between the doors of the wardrobe.

‘Such a pretty boy,’ Eve murmurs, and Isabelle can’t help the whine that comes out of her mouth. Eve saves those words for special occasions, and she’s already shivering with the anticipation of what this occasion is going to bring.

Eve puts her index finger on Isabelle’s lower lip, tracing it. Then she traces her upper lip, and dips her finger into Isabelle’s mouth. Before Isabelle can react really, Eve takes it out again, and drags it along her chin, and down her throat. The trail it leaves behind gets cold immediately, and Isabelle is squirming again--though that may have more to do with Eve’s finger now moving between her breasts, and down her stomach.

Isabelle is so wet at that alone that some of it is about to drip down the inside of her leg.

‘You want me to touch you?’ Eve asks, her hand splayed across Isabelle’s stomach, fingers caressing her skin, gently inching further down in suggestion.

‘Fuck,’ Isabelle whispers, or hears herself whisper, she’s far too hot to know how she’s really reacting. 

‘Tell me,’ Eve says, her breath warm against Isabelle’s neck.

‘Fucking touch me,’ Isabelle moans, her arms winding around Eve’s shoulders.

‘Such a bossy bottom,’ Eve jokes, but her hand goes down til her fingers are curling over Isabelle’s mound, moving through her pubes, lightly scratching the sensitive skin there. And Isabelle lets out a gorgeous moan when Eve’s fingers finally touch her clit again.

‘What--what are you gonna do?’ Isabelle asks, and she’s taken aback by how much she’s already handed over power to Eve. 

Isabelle is already making more noise than she usually does, and Eve can’t help how much it’s turning her on, to be able to make Isabelle such a mess after barely doing anything. Isabelle keeps grinding her naked body against Eve’s still fully clothed one, and moaning without reserve. Eve wonders how loud she can make her once they really get going.

‘I think it’s time for me to sit on your face,’ Eve says, keeping her eyes fixed on Isabelle as she speaks. And Isabelle’s mouth drops open at the same time as her eyes close, her breath coming out in pants as Eve teases her clit again and again, relishing how Isabelle’s wetness is gathering between her fingers.

‘Jesus,’ Isabelle groans, and Eve has to kiss her. She makes it filthy from the start, all tongue, and then bites on Isabelle’s lower lip when she tries to lick back.

‘Follow my lead,’ Eve says as she pulls back, reminding Isabelle who’s in charge tonight.

For a moment Isabelle seems like she’s going to resist the switch in dynamic, but something settles in her, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth submissively, before she nods and lets her gaze drift back down to Eve’s lips in a clear request.

Eve smiles, elated at how Isabelle is showing so much trust, handing over such control, and guides her over to the bed. On the way, Isabelle tugs at Eve’s turtleneck in silent question, and Eve drags it up over her head, leaving another deep kiss on Isabelle’s lips after she does so.

Glancing down at Eve’s jeans, Isabelle keeps her eyebrows raised in question. Eve nods and pushes at Isabelle’s waist a bit — until she unclasps Eve’s belt, unbuttoning her, pushing the fabric down over her hips, along with her underwear. 

‘Now lie down,’ Eve instructs, pointing at the pillow, and Isabelle doesn’t hesitate to leap onto the covers, rolling over onto her back, and resting her head on the pillow. She raises her hands and gestures for Eve to climb up, and the rush of her movement is a clear indication of her desperation.

Eve however stands looking down at her, and then puts one foot on the bed. She doesn’t think, she just lets Isabelle see her--all of her--and then she doesn’t think when she puts her hand between her thighs, and caress up her own leg, til she’s flicking her own clit, just staring at Isabelle’s naked supine body the entire time.

‘Eve--’ Isabelle sighs, and moves her hand to her own pussy, her eyes trained on Eve’s.

‘Nei,’ Eve orders. ‘No touching for you.’

That elicits a high, delicious groan from Isabelle, and Eve strokes her clit faster, unable to stop herself. Her eyes close slightly, but she forces them back open so she can drink in the sight of Isabelle lying vulnerable and open for her, unable to do anything about it.

‘Please,’ Isabelle begs, and it feels new to hear Isabelle beg like this, ‘just come here and sit on my face. I need it. Baby, please.’

The desire to prolong the tease dissipates at the sound of Isabelle’s desperate plea, and Eve climbs up on top of her, crawling up her girlfriend’s body til her legs are straddling her shoulders.

Isabelle’s hands glide up Eve’s thighs til they’re resting on her ass, her eyes focused on Eve’s slit above her, her tongue already peeking out of her mouth. Too eager to feel the pleasure of Isabelle’s mouth on her, Eve moves forward again til her knees are either side of Isabelle’s head, supported by the pillow. Then she spreads her legs a little, giving Isabelle some time to prepare before she sits down on her face. 

But Isabelle’s hands are still firm on Eve’s ass, and they pull her down without warning til Isabelle’s tongue is licking along her opening and up to her clit, which she draws into her mouth and sucks, hard.

The surprise motion makes Eve let out a gasp that swiftly turns into a drawn-out moan, and she anchors herself by gripping onto the headboard with both hands. She closes her eyes, focusing everything on the profane sounds of Isabelle’s mouth lapping up her wetness, the feeling of Isabelle’s fingers digging into her asscheeks, the electric sensation of Isabelle’s tongue against her pussy.

‘I’m gonna-- fuck, baby, oh  _fuck_ \--’

Eve forgets what she was going to say for a moment when Isabelle moves one hand between her legs and unceremoniously thrusts one finger into her, knuckle-deep.

‘I’m gonna ride your face, baby--’  _Yes, that was it, but now to turn Isabelle on,_  ‘--and you’re gonna like it.’

Isabelle lets out a strangled moan against Eve’s clit, and then takes her finger out, placing both hands on Eve’s ass again in clear consent.

Bracing herself against the headboard again, Eve rolls her hips back and forth in a slow rhythm, to get Isabelle used to it. She can feel the way Isabelle’s nose, lips and chin glide along her pussy, and she whines again, realising she’s really doing this, she’s really got Isabelle pliant and obedient between her legs.

Encouraged by how Isabelle’s got her tongue out all the way, just to let Eve rut against it, Eve ups the ante and starts to grind down against Isabelle, now, and starts to moan continuously when Isabelle flicks her tongue up to meet her. Isabelle’s fingers are clawed into her ass, now, and Eve moves one of her own hands down from the headboard to twist in Isabelle’s hair. 

Without really thinking it through, she uses the leverage to start fucking herself on Isabelle’s face in earnest, and she feels Isabelle’s low groans in response, which serve only to increase her rhythm. She’s close, now, she can feel how her thighs are already tight, how her jaw is already locked open in a silent scream.

It’s filthy, it’s obscene, how she’s using Isabelle to get off, how Isabelle is clearly so into it if her desperate moans are anything to go by. She rides her girlfriend’s face harder and harder, one hand braced in her hair, the other on the headboard, and she gives up trying to keep the sounds in. She knows Isabelle loves hearing her. So she arches her back and ruts against Isabelle’s tongue and lips, and her orgasm is just within reach--

Then Isabelle reaches both hands up Eve’s stomach, chest, til they’re cupped around her tits, and Eve lets out another long groan at that. Isabelle squeezes, hard, and she knows how much Eve likes that, how much it makes her feel hot and sexy. 

‘Baby--I’m so close--’ Eve gets out, and Isabelle understands. Eve stops rutting, wanting Isabelle to push her over the edge, so Isabelle flicks her tongue inside Eve, licking and sucking and burying her face in Eve’s pussy til Eve shouts out. 

When she’s done teasing, she moves back to circle the tip of her tongue around Eve’s clit, then lick it, again, and again, and again, until Eve’s hands are in her own hair and her moans are getting higher and higher, mixed in with  _fuck_ and  _oh fuck_ and  _baby boy_. 

Isabelle’s tongue is heaven, and Eve braces herself for what’s about to happen. With another, and another, and another perfect lick right against her now swollen and hypersensitive clit, Eve is sent flying over the edge as her orgasm hits her, but it builds and builds as she rides it, and all the breath is driven from her lungs. It eclipses at a final, almost painful, pitch, and the white-hot fizzing tension ripples out across her limbs as she pants through her release, her mouth dry and her hearing dimmed. 

She swings her left leg back from Isabelle, til she can lie in the opposing direction, and fall back against the duvet, letting the last shocks of her orgasm wash through her. She feels hot and cold at the same time, her skin taut, her thighs tired. 

‘Wow,’ Isabelle murmurs, her hand curling around Eve’s knee. ‘That was--’

‘Yeah,’ Eve sighs. 

‘You screamed. You realise that, right? Like, actually screamed. I didn’t know you could scream.’

‘I did?’ 

‘Yeah you did,’ Isabelle laughs. ‘I’m pretty sure my parents are gonna get a noise complaint.’

‘How long will they be gone for?’ Eve asks.

‘Probably another hour. They usually stop at this place for a drink when they’re out by--’

‘Yeah, don’t care about the details,’ Eve continues, as she rolls to the side, her face level with Isabelle’s shins, her hand caressing the inside of her thigh softly. ‘I’ve just got unfinished business with you.’

Isabelle laughs. ‘Are you not satisfied with the mind-blowing orgasm I just gave you?’

‘It’s not my satisfaction I’m focused on right now,’ Eve replies, her hand moving further up Isabelle’s thigh. 

‘It’s your turn.’

\--

 _This is heaven_ , Eve thinks.  _This truly is heaven._

They had decided to have a bath together, not having one in either of their apartments, and wanting to make the most of it while Isabelle’s parents were out.

They filled it with bubble bath, letting it froth up, and Isabelle conceded to let Eve burn some candles to set the mood. And despite Isabelle’s insistence, Eve refused to finger her. She wanted to save that for when they’d both dried off.

And after towelling each other down, they put on pyjamas and lay back in Isabelle’s bed, just making out lazily and stroking each other gently over their clothes.

But Eve wanted to experiment again. She wanted to know what Isabelle’s face looked like when Eve took control.

So she rolled over on top of her girlfriend and hiked Isabelle’s leg over her waist, starting a harsh grind at once. Isabelle let out a shocked groan, her hands flying above her head to get purchase against the headboard as Eve thrust against her repeatedly.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Isabelle moans, her head tipped back into the pillow as she pushes back against Eve’s rutting. ‘I-- fuck, you feel so good.’

Eve leans down and sucks a hickey into Isabelle’s neck, gripping her leg more tightly around her, and angling to align their groins together. Each thrust pushes another moan from Isabelle, and Eve buries her face between Isabelle’s tits, overcome with how gloriously dirty it feels to dry hump her girlfriend. 

‘You’re taking orders tonight,’ Eve mutters into Isabelle’s sternum. ‘You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you?’

Isabelle releases another loud, delicious moan, and nods, her breath coming faster.

‘That’s it,’ Eve says, grinding another harsh thrust down against Isabelle, who groans in deep pleasure at the feeling.

Eve ducks her head down til her lips brush Isabelle’s ear. ‘I’m gonna top the fuck out of you.’

Isabelle whines at that, and grips onto Eve, her eyes tightly shut.

Curling her fingers round Isabelle’s tshirt, Eve tugs it off, and then starts thumbing and flicking Isabelle’s nipples til they’re erect and hard.

‘Baby--’ Isabelle moans again.

‘I know, you like that,’ Eve comments, now rolling each nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Isabelle’s back arches and she buries her face in her pillow, her legs clasped around Eve’s waist.

Eve lightly pinches her nipples, and presses her lips to Isabelle’s to swallow down the broken moan that it prompts.

‘Fuck me,’ Isabelle demands, wild, her hair splayed across the pillow, her face red, her legs unashamedly open. ‘ _Fuck_ me.’

Eve smirks and flicks her nipples again, to which Isabelle lets out a high-pitched, involuntary, groan.

‘I’m not done playing with these yet,’ Eve says, and remembers what felt good before — so she starts grinding down against Isabelle again, rutting through their pyjama bottoms, just chasing what feels good.

‘Eve,  _please_ \--’

‘You want my fingers or my mouth?’ Eve asks, then before Isabelle can answer, she asks, ‘Or my tit?’

Frowning, Isabelle looks up at her and waits for an explanation. 

‘How’d you like me flicking your clit with just my nipple? Hmm? I think you’d love it,’ Eve says, loving the way her words make Isabelle squirm and pant and flush.

Eve shuffles down the bed and pulls Isabelle’s pyjama bottoms down to her knees. Then she hikes her own tshirt just above her tit, and starts to rub her nipple along Isabelle’s vulva, just getting a feel for it. Her nipple hardens fast, and then she moves it to Isabelle’s clit, rubbing it up and down, up and down, til Isabelle is letting out those sharp high whimpers, and Eve can’t help herself. She has to taste.

She replaces her nipple on Isabelle’s clit with her tongue, and starts to lick quickly, enjoying the change in Isabelle’s breathing, how she’s responding so beautifully to everything.

Before she can get used to the sensation, however, Eve pulls back, kneading Isabelle’s thighs. 

‘Uh--what--’ Isabelle begins, outraged.

‘Nope,’ Eve interrupts. ‘Spread your legs.’

Isabelle looks down at them and back up at Eve, questioning.

‘Spread them wider,’ Eve clarifies, until Isabelle flushes again, and slowly--so slowly--moves her feet apart til she’s spread open, lewd, on the bed, in front of Eve.

Eve makes no secret of how her eyes travel down Isabelle’s thighs and fix on her pussy. 

‘There we go,’ she says, licking her lips. Isabelle whines.

Crawling forward, Eve leaves quick kisses up Isabelle’s leg, hip, torso, neck, until she’s biting Isabelle’s lip, sucking on her tongue, letting her taste herself on her mouth.

As she distracts Isabelle with kisses, she moves her right hand between them, til it’s gliding down, and between Isabelle’s legs, still wide open.

Without warning, knowing Isabelle can take it, she pushes two fingers inside, curling them in just the right spot. 

Isabelle convulses at the feeling and lets out another gorgeous moan into Eve’s mouth. ‘Ffffffuck.’

But just as quickly, Eve takes them out. Isabelle glares up at her. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘You have to beg for it,’ Eve responds, calmly. 

Isabelle’s face turns stubborn, but just as quickly she softens, and juts her hips up, hoping to get contact again. ‘Baby,’ she whispers.

‘Beg,’ Eve repeats.

‘Fuck.  _Please_. I need you inside me right this fucking second.’

‘There’s my good girl,’ Eve praises, thrusting two fingers into Isabelle’s plush wet pussy again. ‘Shit, you feel amazing.’

Isabelle moans in response.

‘Yeah, you look so hot like this,’ Eve continues, knowing praise is Isabelle’s weak spot. ‘Sexed up and writhing, begging for me to fuck you — you’re such a dirty dream come true.’

Isabelle tucks her face into Eve’s neck and bites down on her throat to mask another loud groan. Prompted by this, Eve thrusts a little faster, curling her fingers to find Isabelle’s g-spot.

‘Gorgeous,’ Eve praises again, ‘and all for me. Yeah, look at you. So loud. So keen. So fucking sexy.’ 

‘Eve, please, I can’t--’ Isabelle pants.

‘You’re gonna come just on my fingers?’ Eve asks, but Isabelle knows it’s an instruction.

‘Yeah,’ she sighs.

‘Say it,’ Eve demands.

The command is new. Isabelle feels that squirming excitement again, and wonders where all of this is coming from, because she  _loves_ it.

‘I’m gonna come on just your fingers,’ Isabelle replies, staring boldly up at Eve.

The words have their desired effect, and Eve moans loudly into Isabelle’s hair.

She thrusts her fingers faster, now, curling each time, and when Isabelle’s body jolts beneath her, she knows she’s hit her spot.

‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, there, there, Eve, please--’

‘Say my name when you come. Don’t hold back,’ Eve says, licking and sucking another hickey into Isabelle’s neck. ‘Let everyone hear. Let them know who’s doing this to you.’

With one final perfect finger-fuck, Eve nearly shoves Isabelle up the bed, and hits her spot dead on. The reaction is overwhelming: Isabelle screams out her name again and again and again, her back arched, her legs in the air with the force of how hard her orgasm flies through her. Eve tries to count the seconds of how long Isabelle is on a high, and easily reaches ten. Isabelle is still tense, her eyes screwed shut, her throat letting out gurgling groans and sighs with every touch.

As she comes down, Eve wraps her in a warm embrace, knowing from experience how much they both need the reassurance of affection after such vulnerability. She lies half on top of Isabelle, running her hand through Isabelle’s long blonde hair, leaving soft kisses on her collarbone.

After a few minutes, Isabelle comes all the way back down. She sighs, looks to Eve, and tilts her chin up for a real kiss.

Eve gives it to her. Of course she does.

‘How are you feeling, beautiful?’ Eve asks quietly.

Isabelle shifts a little in her arms and smiles. ‘I didn’t know I wanted it like that,’ she says, with humour in her voice. ‘And I didn’t know you had that in you,  _fuck_.’

‘I suspected you might want it on some level. I just didn’t know to what extent,’ Eve explains.

‘Well — we can pretty much assume I’m gonna be into anything you offer,’ Isabelle jokes.

‘Really, though. What did you like?’

‘I…’ Isabelle starts, then trails off, her eyes gazing at the ceiling until she speaks again. ‘I liked you taking such control. More so than me losing it, if that makes sense. I liked seeing you lose yourself in control rather than the lack of it. You know what I mean?’

‘Yeah,’ Eve replies softly. ‘I liked that a hell of a lot, too.’

‘I noticed that from how you rode my face like you were in a rodeo,’ she says, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

‘I regret nothing,’ Eve says back, her smile reaching so wide that her eyes crinkle on both sides.

Isabelle reaches a hand out and traces Eve’s smiling lips, before she leaves a gentle kiss on them and curls under Eve’s chin.

‘I love you,’ Eve whispers, contented.

Isabelle grins. She’s still not used to the words, and they fill her with a thrill every damn time. ‘I love you too, baby. Especially when you top the fuck out of me.’

Eve lets out a loud, booming laugh, and holds Isabelle closer.

‘Urgh,’ Isabelle groans. ‘I should pee.’

‘Yeah I really need to go, too,’ Eve admits.

‘Fine, you first.’

‘We’re continuing this discussion of how much you like me as a top when I get back,’ Eve throws over her shoulder as she gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom.

‘Nothing further to add!’ Isabelle yells in retaliation.

But after they both pee, then brush their teeth, and finally return to bed, the discussion is derailed when they hear the front door open and close, announcing the return of Isabelle’s parents.

‘Sounds like mamma, pappa and far are home,’ Isabelle hums.

The reminder settles something pleasant in Eve’s stomach as she holds Isabelle closer. She’s still grateful for the evening they shared. She hadn’t experienced that kind of open warmth and love in years, and the stark proof that it still exists gives Eve a reassurance she didn’t know she needed.

‘You have a wonderful family,’ she says.

Then Isabelle tilts her head up to look Eve in the eye as she smiles, and replies, 

‘Yeah. We do.’


	4. Pynk is the truth you can't hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a break-up and make-up chapter. all for TabithaAnne the hot Comm mom (who's got it going on). enjoy <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: drinking; intervention; brief mention of throwing up; dom!isabelle, sub!eve; rough sex; angry sex; subspace; wlw smut

‘Hey, can you hear me?’

‘I can hear you but I can’t see you.’

‘Ok, can you hear me now?’

‘Your voice has gone all pixellated. Shit. Let’s restart and try again in a minute.’

Eve sighs and turns her laptop off. It has only been three months since Isabelle moved and she still hates the distance. She hates the bad quality Skype calls. She hates not being able to touch her. The fact that she can barely hear her anymore is just insult to injury.

As her laptop is turning itself back on, her phone buzzes. It’s a FaceTime call from Isabelle.

‘Ah, so you’re finally admitting defeat, and the fact that FaceTime is better,’ Eve says, triumphant, as she beams at her girlfriend.

Isabelle, predictably, rolls her eyes. ‘I did no such thing. I’m just too impatient to see you, and your wifi is a mess.’

‘My wifi is working perfectly!’ Eve argues, ‘You’re the one who’s using a wifi connection in fucking Trondheim! You might as well be on the North Pole!’

‘Anyway you missed the part where I was being more romantic than you, I get that must be hard to bear. It just comes naturally, you know,’ Isabelle says, moving her hand in a grand gesture.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Eve says dismissively. ‘So tell me about your week.’

Isabelle’s smirk fades and she pauses, her eyes darting down to her lap. Eve can make out the outline of the bedpost behind her and the fairy lights she’d insisted Isabelle hang above her bed. She waits for Isabelle to speak, already suspecting where it’s going to go.

‘Honestly, it’s been tough,’ she admits at last, ‘I thought the Masters would be enough to keep me occupied from feeling lonely, and though it has been incredibly busy, with all my seminars and labs and induction events and social meetings … I’m still always alone in this flat when I wake up and when I fall asleep.’

Eve’s heart breaks yet again. ‘Baby--’

‘No,’ Isabelle interrupts. ‘I… I told you, brutal honesty, remember? So, this isn’t me berating you or guilting you or anything. I’m just, I need to be blunt so that I can trust you to do the same. Ok?’

Eve nods. ‘That’s fair.’

They’d been over that countless times before the move. 

‘So, yeah, I-- I just miss you. I miss you making me breakfast and forgetting to do laundry and waking me up with your fingers, or just hugging me when I’ve had a long day. I… I feel so empty without all of that. It feels like we’ve broken up, even though we haven’t,’ she explains, and her voice wavers at the end, but not enough for her to let herself cry.

‘Issy--’

‘Just… I know we still love each other, obviously, I mean, fuck it’s only been  _three months_ , I feel ridiculous for being this upset. But in my defence we went from fucking most days for two years, to absolutely cold turkey masturbation-only, and my body is in shock.’

Eve mirrors the small smile Isabelle gives her. They give each other a moment of peace.

‘I miss Sundays,’ Eve says quietly. She wants Isabelle to know she’s not alone in feeling sad.

Isabelle nods, and suddenly her face crumples as she starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters. ‘I fucking swore I wouldn’t do this--’

‘If you want to cry, just cry, love,’ Eve says, trying to reach out through the phone. Then she remembers, yet again, she can’t hold her this time.

‘I am fully aware,’ Isabelle stutters out between breaths, ‘that I’m not actually this emotional. My fucking period is due tomorrow so my hormones are having a goddamn carnival.’

‘That’s so fair,’ Eve says, trying to calm Isabelle with just the sound of her voice. She doesn’t know how successful she is. 

‘Sundays were  _our_ day,’ Isabelle cries, ‘the one day I could see you. And I can’t even blame Trondheim for that anymore.’

Eve feels cold at the reminder, but Isabelle keeps going:

‘I can’t blame anything for it, because it’s not your fault either you had to work six nights a week at that fucking club, up til all hours. But the fact is I-- I feel like we’ve been doing long-distance for much longer. And I’m… I’m so  _lonely_ , Eve.’

Isabelle’s pulled a pillow into her lap and hidden her face in it as she starts to sob. The terrible admission sends a flash of shame through Eve and she’s once again speechless about their isolation. 

It had been hard, so hard, when they moved in together in Oslo nearly a year ago. Eve had been working part-time in the Lighthouse, and struggling to pay even half of the rent for six months straight. Isabelle was still working her waitressing job with Jora and took the promotion to Floor Manager to make sure she could cover the Eve’s losses. She postponed applying for Masters programmes, until Eve finally got a full-time job, working as a DJ in her favourite club, Elsker, when her friend from uni set up an interview.

Within six months, Isabelle got accepted to the Astrophysics Masters degree in NTNU, with a fully-funded scholarship, to start in the coming academic year — which meant she had to move to Trondheim with less than 4 weeks’ notice.

Where she is now, crying into a pillow, because Eve didn’t go with her.

‘Isabelle, I can still--’

‘No, don’t move here just because I’m sad. Move here if you want to live with me,’ Isabelle snaps, and stares at the screen, her face red and wet with tears.

‘That’s not fair,’ Eve replies, uselessly, ‘you know it’s not that easy--’

‘Yes it is!’ Isabelle cries again, ‘Your concerns are all about whether or not you’ll be a “burden,” if you’ll “distract” me from studying, if it’ll take another 6 months for you to get a full-time job, but I don’t care! You-- you have to prioritise  _us!_  The rest of that shit can follow!’

Eve lets out a long breath and hangs her head. She can’t have this argument again. It goes nowhere, except tears and recriminations. 

‘You’re squatting on Adeeva’s futon and working to save money, but for  _what_? What’s it for when we’re both so unhappy?’ Isabelle wipes away the tears with the back of her hand, and sniffles. It would be funny if Eve wasn’t heartbroken.

The six months Eve spent working part-time and living off of her girlfriend’s generosity, while they both still lived together, were some of the hardest of her life. She refused to ask her parents for any kind of help, financial or otherwise, and she resented having to be such a burden on Isabelle, who kept putting off her own life while Eve struggled to get hers together. Isabelle insisted it wasn’t a sacrifice, it was how relationships operated, but Eve couldn’t accept that when it was always Isabelle being there for her, and then Eve failing to be there for Isabelle.

When the DJ gig came along, imperfect and exhausting and poorly paid as it was, it was deliverance from such co-dependence. And it meant Isabelle could start applying to Masters programmes.

Those six months taught Eve that Isabelle will never admit when Eve is being a burden, when the relationship is becoming unequal, or when Eve is taking advantage.

‘What’s it for?’ Isabelle repeats. 

‘We can’t live like this,’ she continues, and Eve already knows what’s coming. Isabelle takes another big breath and doesn’t stop the tears flowing as she implores, ‘Please,  _please_ come to Trondheim. I’d move back to Oslo in a heartbeat if I could, get our lovely flat back, get back everything I want, but you know I can’t. I have to see this Masters through. And I don’t care about money. I don’t care if you distract me. All I do here is study and miss you terribly. Please baby, I can’t  _stand_ it!’

Eve can feel her insides shift and curdle at the decision she’s about to make. She and Isabelle have been approaching this point rapidly for months, now. It’s down to a wiry thread of resistance, which she’s about to forcefully snap, in a way that might be irreparable.

‘I can’t stand it, either,’ Eve whispers, and Isabelle lets out a sigh of relief.

‘Then  _come here_ \--’

‘I can’t stand how miserable I’ve made you,’ Eve interrupts. ‘I can’t abide seeing you so upset. The fact that you’ve made such space for me in your life is humbling and honestly one of the greatest things to ever happen to me. But it’s also done irreversible damage to you. You-- you don’t need this weight on your shoulders, love--’

Isabelle’s eyes widen as she realises what Eve is saying, where her speech is headed. ‘Nei. Nei nei nei, Eve, don’t you dare--’

‘If I move to Trondheim, I’ll only make everything worse. And I can’t keep dating you while I live in Oslo. There’s only one other option that gives you some freedom from this,’ Eve says, measuredly, and her heart, her skin, her guts already feel black with loathing against herself.

Isabelle shakes her head furiously, and stares into the camera. ‘Eve, get off the Self-Centred Express and get a fucking grip.’

‘I love you so much,’ Eve says, her tears falling freely, now, though she can’t feel them. ‘I love you so much, and I can’t continue to put you through this. We have to end it.’

Isabelle is silent, her face rigid with resentment, and her lips are set in a thin line.

Eve’s never seen her so angry, and it makes her certainty weaken. ‘I-- I’ll talk to you in the morning, love.’

Isabelle shakes her head again. ‘If you hang up on me now, you can guarantee I’m not going to answer your fucking guilt calls.’

‘I love you.’

‘Stop being so selfish.’

‘I love you.’

‘Whatever.’

‘I love you.’

Eve hangs up.

 

\--

 

Adeeva and Misha are hosting their monthly curry night, and Eve can’t taste a thing. The flat is full of delicious smells, cumin and garlic and coconut, but she’s not hungry at all. Her friends are all sitting around her, passing homemade flatbreads around, bickering over music, chatting loudly about their weeks. And she’s barely there.

She’s functioning. She’s listening, and participating just enough not to be suspicious, and waiting for the earliest moment to excuse herself. So far, the flat is too full for anyone to notice one person being reserved.

But, then her phone buzzes. At 21.21. As it does every night. She doesn’t have time to remove it from the tabletop before Misha sees the notification light up.

‘Isabelle! How’s she doing?’ Misha asks, a smile wide across her face as she reaches for Adeeva’s hand and interlinks their fingers together, guiding her to lean over and pay attention.

The movement reminds Eve so much of how she & Isabelle used to interact that she’s just that bit closer to tears.

‘We broke up.’

The words are out before she makes the decision to say them. Everyone at the table suddenly stops, and focuses on Eve, the chatter reduced to silence, except for the odd fork or knife hitting off a plate or glass. Eve closes her eyes and awaits the onslaught of questions about what happened.

‘Honey. Are you ok?’ Adeeva asks, and leans forward to wrap her hand around Eve’s wrist.

Eve shrugs as best she can, and her phone buzzes again in her pocket. She can only imagine what Isabelle’s nightly texts are saying this time. They’ve gone from outraged to annoyed to dismissive back to outraged the past few nights. Eve tries not to respond.

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ Misha asks, instead, and Eve catches her eye. They’ve always been closest — Misha was Eve’s first lesbian kiss, drunken and messy though it was, and there’s a deeper friendship there that no obstacle could challenge. Misha is the one solid friend that Eve can trust, but there’s nothing about Eve’s behaviour that she wants to share with anyone. She’s thoroughly confused and ashamed of what she’s done, but she can’t help but feel it was still the right choice.

‘I-- I don’t think so,’ Eve responds at last. ‘Can we change the subject?’

Everyone listens, and slowly goes back to their previous conversations. When the noise in the room has reached sufficient levels, Misha turns to Eve again and asks quietly, ‘Tell me to leave it if you want. But. Was it the distance?’

Eve shakes her head. ‘It was me.’

Misha tilts her head and observes Eve for a moment. ‘What do you mean? Have you… have you fallen out of love?’

‘No,’ Eve responds, staring down at her hands in her lap.

‘What do you mean, then, “it was me”?’

Eve sighs. She gestures to the kitchen and Misha follows her through the hallway and around into the quiet, empty space. For the following fifteen minutes, Eve tries to clearly explain what happened and why. Misha stands, leaning against the counter, her arms folded, and considers Eve while she speaks. 

Finally, she says, ‘Eve. Are you serious?’

Eve frowns and looks back at her. ‘Obviously? Why are you asking me that?’

‘You dumped your girlfriend of over two years because she might get stressed about bills?’

Eve rolls her eyes and turns away from her. ‘Don’t fucking reduce it, Misha--’

‘You lived with her for a year and she never once indicated any animosity about covering half of you rent, correct? She never objected to your bad mental health days or your needs in the relationship, or anything like that?’ Misha asks, her face stern and unmoved.

‘No, but that’s the issue--’

‘Be honest, Eve. Did you dump her for the reasons you say, or did you do it because, actually, you’re  _afraid_ of wanting to be with her for the rest of your life?’

Eve thinks about Misha’s question, long and hard. The bluntness of it strikes a chord in her, something deep and troubled, and she feels the element of truth in it. Still, she knows it was the right call. She reminds herself of how hard those 6 months of unemployment were, how much of a strain it put on Isabelle, how unfair it would be to continue to disrupt her life.

‘It’s not about fear,’ Eve replies, and Misha huffs in response. ‘It’s not!’ Eve insists, ‘it’s about putting her needs ahead of mine.’

‘Great,’ Misha says, sarcastically. Eve doesn’t remember her ever being this blunt. Misha goes on, ‘Really great. You get the Nobel Peace Prize for being the world’s biggest martyr. What does Isabelle get from this?’

Eve gestures helplessly and says, ‘I’m not-- She’s too accepting and, and forgiving, she never says when she’s had enough. It’s not healthy. I have to draw the line.’

‘Isabelle never says when she’s had enough?  _Isabelle_? That sounds a lot more like you,’ Misha rebuts, her arms by her sides now, holding on to the counter behind her 

‘Why would I break up with her then, genius?’ Eve retorts, unable to hide the scoff in her tone. 

‘Because you’re a fucking idiot.’

Eve rolls her eyes and folds her arms, glancing off into one corner of the kitchen to avoid seeing Misha’s unmoved expression. The discomfort rises in her, hearing the harsh truth that Misha is pointing out about her motivations. But she reminds herself, once more, she did what she did for the right reasons.

‘What’s she writing to you, then? Since you’ve broken up?’

Eve sighs and lets her shoulders sag. There’s nothing pretty about what Misha’s about to find out. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and takes her phone out of her pocket. When she presses the home button, the screen lights up with the notifications. Sure enough, two texts from Isabelle, as expected.

She hands the phone wordlessly to Misha, who takes it and looks down at the screen.

‘ “Your daily reminder”,’ Misha reads aloud, ‘ “that this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” Well, she’s right about that.’

Eve huffs and folds her arms again. ‘Misha, this isn’t a joke--’

Misha continues reading, ‘ “If you love me, you know what to do.”’

Every message ended with those words, but they still took Eve off-guard. She crumpled in on herself, holding her knees to her chest as she lowered herself on to the ground. She knows she is being self-indulgent but the tearing conflict inside her only worsened with every message from Isabelle.

‘Eve,’ Misha says quietly, like a reassurance. ‘What’s really going on?’

As if that’s a question she can readily answer. What’s going on is the hardest decision of her life, the worst combination of facts, and her terrible attempt to make the best of it. All Eve wants, all Eve can actively strive for, is Isabelle’s happiness. And here she is, crouched on Misha’s kitchen floor, buckling under the weight of realising that maybe she’s fucked this all up beyond repair. And maybe she’s fucked this up because she’s convinced she’ll always fuck it up, and it’s better to do it now rather than later. Maybe she’s brought this on herself. And that makes the hurt inside rip the wound open further.

‘Nothing,’ Eve says, standing to her feet again, and walking back to the living room without a backward glance. ‘Nothing.’

 

\--

 

Eve throws herself into work. She takes on extra shifts at the club so she’s DJing every night, and occasionally in the evenings for private functions. But she doesn’t just work every night, once the clubs let out at 4 or 5am, she stays out drinking with whoever is around, until well into the morning.

More than once she finds herself pressed up against a stranger, letting them put their tongue in her mouth, hoping they don’t let their hands wander, hoping they don’t find out about her. Though her body doesn’t look as it used to, the terror of being discovered somehow never dissipates. And she never, ever lets them see the scars.

But it never gets past kissing. She can barely stand that much. She wants her hands to touch a familiar neck, the curve of the hips she knows so well, the soft swell of breasts that her skin still remembers all over. Nothing compares.

Adeeva and Misha seem to take turns in holding Eve’s hair back every ‘morning after’ when she’s throwing up the straight vodka and kebab from the night before. They leave glasses of water and painkillers on the coffee table for when she wakes up. They do her laundry, leave tupperwares of cooked meals in the fridge for her, and continually try to get her to talk — to no avail. She refuses to open up. After two solid weeks of Eve overworking and overdrinking, they take a different action.

It’s Tuesday afternoon, close on 2pm. Eve’s just waking up on the futon, the duvet cast haphazardly across her. She casts her hand out for the glass of water she expects to be there, but finds nothing. Slowly, she cracks her eyes open, the light blinding her momentarily.

That’s when she realises she’s not alone.

Around her are Misha and Adeeva, as well as Jora, Mathilde, and Mahirah.

There’s a beat of silence, where noone moves or speaks, as Eve’s eyes travel around the room. As she frowns, she can feel the makeup caked on her cheeks, and the mascara dried on her eyes. Then she feels the metal taste in her mouth. And she smells herself. None of it is good.

‘Hey,’ she croaks. 

The five girls look around at each other, and grimly look back at Eve.

‘Hey sweetie,’ Adeeva says, at last.

‘In case it’s not clear, we’re staging an intervention,’ Misha admits, her hands worrying at the bottom of her hijab. 

Eve is momentarily surprised to see her in it at home, then realises she doesn’t know Jora, Mathilde or Mahirah that well. Which reminds her how strange it is for them to be there. They’re very much Isabelle’s friends. And then she really hears what Misha just said.

‘An … intervention,’ she repeats.

‘You’re numbing yourself,’ Jora says. ‘You’re drinking every night, throwing yourself into work as a distraction, you’re isolating yourself from everyone, and most importantly, you’re refusing help.’

‘Eevee,’ Mathilde says, and the nickname makes Eve’s heart squeeze painfully, ‘Isabelle told us you haven’t been responding to her. We don’t know the full story of what happened, but it sounds like you’re in trouble. And Adeeva & Misha called us when they weren’t getting through to you.’

‘I didn’t want to, but--’ Adeeva starts.

Misha interrupts her, ‘You’re not taking care of yourself. And it’s not just that we’re worried. We need you to recognise there’s a problem. And we want you to know, for a fact, that you are loved. We are here, and we want to help.’

‘We’re not sure what we need to do, honestly,’ Jora says. ‘It’s kinda awkward because you’re as much our friend now as Isabelle is, but we don’t wanna actually get involved in your relationship. We just heard you were struggling and … well. It’s like you always say. No-one deserves to feel alone.’

Mathilde nods vigorously. ‘Yeah. And. Well. Adeeva said she’d make us some chebakia if we came--’

‘For the love of god!’ Jora exclaims, ‘can you keep anything to yourself?’

Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Misha gets up, walks out to the hallway, and opens it. That’s when Eve hears--

‘Ah, Sanaullah is here,’ Mahirah says.

‘They are?’ Mathilde asks, ‘I didn’t know they were coming!’

‘Who else is gonna whip us into shape?’ Adeeva says, just as Sanaullah walks in.

‘I heard there was a crisis,’ they say authoritatively, looking Eve up and down. ‘So obviously, I’m here.’

There’s a smile that creeps along everyone’s face, til Misha comes back with a tray of teas and coffees. Eve sits up, dragging her feet under her legs and accepting Jora’s offer of a cup of coffee. Sanaullah steps in and takes the seat next to her. 

‘You wanna talk about it?’ they ask gently, leaving a hand on Eve’s shin and rubbing their thumb soothingly over her pyjamas.

‘There’s nothing really to talk about,’ Eve explains, her hands cupped around the mug as she sinks into the couch, shrinking away from the attention.

‘You sure about that?’ Sanaullah prompts. ‘Because you got a package this morning. And your phone’s got a missed call. I have a feeling they’re related.’

Eve’s heart plummets. She looks at Sanaullah, who’s holding a package she hadn’t even noticed til now. They share a moment of understanding, and Sanaullah hands the package over to Eve.

‘It was outside your door when I came up,’ they explain. 

Eve holds it in her lap, and recognises the handwriting at once. She doesn’t know if she has the strength to open it up in front of everyone. She doesn’t know if she can bear to see what’s inside.

‘Who’s it from?’ Mathilde asks, and Mahirah elbows her in the side. Sanaullah levels Mathilde with a glance and that silences any further questions.

‘I--I can’t see this,’ Eve says quietly. Sanaullah audibly rolls her eyes, and then hands Eve her phone from where it’s lodged in the couch cushions.

‘Fine. Start with the voicemail, then. But you’ve run for long enough, now,’ they say. ‘We love you, but this is the point of no return. And you better believe we’re dragging you back.’

Eve can’t help her small smile. As miserable and disgusting as she feels, Sanaullah’s tough love is grounding and familiar.

She calls her voicemail and listens to the latest message. The voice isn’t a surprise, but it still hits her in the chest like a sucker punch.

‘ _Hey. It’s your birthday this weekend. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get back here. And answer your goddamn phone._ ’

There’s a pause. When she speaks again, her voice is sad. All pretence washed away.

‘ _I miss you. Eve, I miss you. Can you hear me when I say this? I miss you, baby. Please. I don’t have any pride about it. I miss you. Fucking get back here already, idiot_.’

Eve saves the message, it’s just an automatic reflex, and puts her phone screen-down on the coffee table. She’s holding back tears. Just.

‘You need a minute?’ Sanaullah asks.

Shaking her head, Eve brings her hands to the package in her lap and starts pulling the sellotape off. She slowly unfolds it, and inside she finds Isabelle’s old marching band hat, and beneath, Isabelle’s beat-up copy of  _The Well of Loneliness_.

That’s when the tears break free. Adeeva jumps forward with a box of tissues, and Eve just buries her face in Adeeva’s shoulder instead, and she and Sanaullah crowd around her, holding her close. 

‘Alright, I’m instigating a group hug,’ she hears Mathilde murmur, before she, and Jora and Mahirah and Misha all join in.

They stay like that, curled around Eve on the couch, til she lifts her head, and nods. ‘Sorry,’ she mutters, and Sanaullah slaps her leg playfully, tutting in disapproval.

With everyone back in their seats, Eve blows her nose in a tissue and then takes the novel out of the box. That’s when she sees a folded up piece of paper at the bottom.She takes it out, and slowly unfolds it. It’s the same handwriting as on the package.

‘Is that from Isabelle?’ Adeeva asks.

Eve shakes her head, and starts reading aloud.

‘ _Kjaere Eve,_

_I’m sorry to send this to you. Isabelle told me it was your birthday this weekend and she wanted me to send these two things to you. She said they had some kind of sentimental importance for you._

_That’s when she told me what happened a few weeks ago._

_Now, forgive me, for I’m about to overstep. But I think I see a lot of myself in you. And I have a suspicion that I might have an insight into what happened here._

_You panicked. The same way Jørgen panicked before he married me. The same way I panicked before asking Jørgen to allow Marius to be our second partner. It’s a human response to change, and to commitment._

_Everyone has that moment of fear before the plunge._

_You know what’s coming, my darling. Don’t shy away from it. This is your life. Take it._

_And no matter what happens, love, I want you to know, from the bottom of our hearts, you’re as much our daughter as she is. Remember that._

_Love always,_

_your Tove,_

_& Marius,_

_& Jørgen.’_

By the time Eve finishes reading, there’s a new rip in the fabric of her being. She’s trembling all over, and she’s not sure she can contain all the love and fear that’s risen in her chest, spilling over her lips and coming out in ugly, heaving sobs.

Sanaullah and Misha hold her through it, until she admits at last, in muted whispers, 

‘I fucked up, habibi. I really, really fucked up.’

There’s a small chuckle that Eve realises a beat too late came from Sanaullah. They smile, and kiss the crown of her head. 

‘That’s ok,’ they whisper into her hair. ‘Because now you know how to fix it.’

 

\--

 

Eve packs a suitcase that evening. She also packs up all her other things and stores them in Adeeva and Misha’s living room. She showers, cooks everyone a thank-you dinner, cancels her DJ gig for the next week — claiming a family emergency (which, she realises, is true) — and shaves for the first time in months. Everywhere. 

She’s at Gardermoen airport at 7am the next morning. Her flight is at 8.55am. She is outside the flat in Trondheim by 11.

The previous 24 hours seem, in that moment, to be beyond surreal. But she gathers her courage, buoyed by the strength of her newfound awareness, and knocks on the door three times, then another three times. She knows Isabelle will recognise it immediately.

It had started off as a joke — anytime she wanted to go into Isabelle’s room or bathroom while she was in there alone, Eve would knock three times, each time speaking a syllable from her name, ‘Is-a-belle,’ and then another three times, each knock punctuated alongside ‘I - love - you.’ 

Isabelle found it sickeningly sentimental at first. But she never asked Eve to stop.

She’s waiting a while for the door to open, though. And she can’t hear any footsteps on the other side.

So, she takes another deep breath, and knocks again, but this time, she matches each knock with loudly spoken words, the words they secretly mean:

‘Is-a-belle. I-love-you.’

Then, the footsteps come. And they’re fast. Eve’s pulse is tripping over itself, and she feels nearly faint with how nervous she is about what’s going to happen in the next ten minutes.

The door swings open.

Eve is not prepared for the sight of Isabelle in  _Eve’s_ old fleece pyjamas, with her thermal socks on still because it’s February in Trondheim, and her hair is a mess, clearly having just woken up.

She’s perfect.

Her eyes are wide in shock, and Eve can scent the faint whiff of Isabelle’s shampoo and bed-smell, and her heart  _aches_ with it.

She doesn’t think. She doesn’t allow herself to. She just moves.

Her hands are curved back around that waist, the dip in her lower back; her tits are cushioned with the all-familiar roundness of Isabelle’s; and her mouth seeks out those lips she’s dreamt of, pined for, longed after for far too long.

And, fuck, are they everything she’s missed and more. 

She kisses her, concerned only with feeling her way back to Isabelle, who’s still standing there in a state of shock, trembling. Then Eve realises she’s the one who’s trembling. She loves her so much, touching her is the only thing that feels right. It’s the only thing that’s felt right for months.

Isabelle finally moves. 

She pushes Eve back, her hands firmly clasped around her shoulders as she stares at her, frowning, her eyes then darting up and down, taking her all in. Finally, she speaks.

‘How fucking  _dare_ you break up with me!’

But Eve doesn’t get a chance to respond. Isabelle’s lips are back on hers. And then, they’re off again, and she’s yelling.

‘I’m so mad at you, you have no idea. Pulling that shit on me. I could strangle you.’

Then she kisses her again, and Eve’s heart jumps. She hasn’t lost her. She hasn’t given up. She hasn’t failed.

‘You’re such an asshole!’

Isabelle pulls her inside, slamming the door shut, and pushing Eve up against it, covering her mouth with her own, and pushing her hands all over Eve, palming at her tits, grabbing at her ass, pulling her outer layers off.

‘Baby, I missed you,’ she whines into Eve’s neck, right before biting it.

When she pushes Eve’s head down and brings it between her legs, they both let out a sigh of relief. Eve goes down on her right there in the hallway, and everything fits back into place in her heart. She never wants to be with anyone else, she realises, as she pulls Isabelle’s panties off and licks over her clit. It’s absurd how much she missed that taste, how badly she needed it again. She only wants this, her Isabelle, her beautiful partner, for life.

She loses track of how often she murmurs it into Isabelle’s wet folds, her milky thighs, her soft stomach. 

Eve eats her out, and then Isabelle drags her inside, into her bedroom, the room Eve’s only seen through a tv screen. It’s all too real, all of a sudden, and she can’t fathom how she let it go this long.

Isabelle throws her on the bed. With the force of the shove, Eve bounces on it, and looks up at Isabelle with unadorned tenderness and gratitude. She wants to melt into that mattress and never look back.

Climbing on top of her, Isabelle pins her arms to the bed and kisses her long and hard. Eve relishes it, loving how Isabelle licks her own taste out of Eve’s mouth.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she whispers against Eve’s lips. ‘I can’t believe it. This feels like a fucking dream.’

‘You feel like a fucking dream,’ Eve murmurs back, and Isabelle groans.

‘I’m still mad as all hell, you know,’ she says, kissing Eve again, but it’s harsh this time. Isabelle bites down into her bottom lip. Eve loves it. She’s missed it. It makes her legs tremble.

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ she asks, raking her fingernails down Eve’s forearms, with just the right amount of pain.

Eve moans.

‘I panicked. I knew it was the beginning of the rest of our life together if I moved here. And I just panicked-- _ohh_ ,’ she says, right as Isabelle gives her a punishing bite on her nipple.

‘You think I wasn’t terrified, too?’ she asks, her hands moving down to Eve’s waist, now, her hips, now, between her legs, now.

‘Isabelle-- I--’ she moans, and reaches her hands up to Isabelle’s tits, but Isabelle bats them away.

‘No. You’re not allowed to touch me,’ she says, in that voice she only uses when she wants control and she won’t accept anything less.

Eve shivers all over. She’s missed this, too.

‘No?’ she asks, tipping her chin up and letting Isabelle see she remembers, too. She remembers how she likes it.

‘ _No_ ,’ Isabelle insists, and curls her hands around the inside of Eve’s thighs, then promptly shoves them so her legs are wide open. 

‘Keep them there.’

She makes short work of pulling off the rest of Eve’s clothes, and looks down after she’s taken off Eve’s jeans and panties, to observe if Eve listens to her command. Dutifully, Eve spreads her legs to their widest point and looks up at Isabelle submissively. Isabelle nods.

‘If I had a spreader bar, I’d tie it between your ankles and force you to stay on your back. But needs must,’ Isabelle murmurs, as she bites on Eve’s earlobe and then grabs a handful of her hair and pulls it, hard, right as her other hand sneaks back between her legs, and she pushes two fingers inside her girlfriend without warning.

‘Oh-- oh fuck,’ Eve moans, and grabs two fistfuls of the sheets.

‘I’m so hurt. And I’m so fucking angry at you,’ Isabelle whispers, her face buried in Eve’s neck, ‘but I missed you so much, too. So, I’m not gonna hold back. If it gets too much, just say the safeword, ok?’

Eve wants to fold herself in Isabelle’s arms and never leave, just at hearing her wavering voice and the heat of her love in every word. She nudges Isabelle’s jaw and they share a kiss that neither can stop from whimpering into. Eve brings her hands up to Isabelle’s beautiful long hair, and tangles her fingers in it, until Isabelle shakes them off, and pins them to the bed again.

‘I said. No touching,’ she murmurs, and then moves her left hand up to Eve’s hair again, while her other rakes down her torso, scratching just the right side of too hard. Just as she pushes two fingers inside her girlfriend again, she winds her left hand in Eve’s hair and pulls roughly.

‘I-- I can’t tell if you’re pleasuring or punishing me,’ Eve groans.

Isabelle just smirks as she wraps her lips around Eve’s nipple. ‘A little of both,’ she mutters.

She starts circling her thumb around Eve’s clit, right as she curls her fingers just the right way, and Eve’s already whining. She leaves two more hickeys on Eve’s neck, and then starts on a third. Eve doesn’t care that her skin is slick with spit or cold because of it, she’s just reveling in Isabelle being so possessive, so domineering. She wants Isabelle to leave marks everywhere.

‘You moan so loudly when I mark you up,’ Isabelle mutters, observant as ever. ‘You like being mine?’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Eve whines.

‘Yeah, you’re mine,’ Isabelle says again, before sinking her teeth into Eve’s skin. Suddenly, Eve is that much closer to coming.

‘Baby-- I--’

‘I know.’

And then Isabelle steps back, literally, and Eve is winded with how quickly she’s been pulled away from the precipice. ‘Wh--?’ she starts, but Isabelle cuts her off.

‘Not yet,’ she says, simply, and Eve realises this is her way of gaining back some control, of showing Eve she’s not quite forgiven yet, but still very much loved.

Isabelle covers her again, but instead of pushing her hand into Eve’s hair, she wraps it around her neck. She’s fingering Eve slowly with the other hand, just enough to get her going again, but not get her worked up yet. The promise of what’s about to happen is making Eve dizzy.

‘I-- I love you,’ she gasps, unable to get anything else out. She can’t explain how she’s amazed, in shock, ashamed, when Isabelle is staring down at her, dark lust in her eyes, her hands making Eve arch and moan. All she can say is the one thing she wants to affirm, over and over and over again.

‘I love you so .. much …’

Isabelle lets out a whimper and dives down to kiss the words off Eve’s mouth. She tightens her grip on Eve’s neck at the same time, and for the brief few seconds that Eve can’t breathe, she feels freer than ever, right there under Isabelle’s hands.

‘You were a coward,’ Isabelle grunts, loosening her grip, but upping the speed of the fingers thrusting in and out of Eve. ‘You were a fucking coward and an idiot. And don’t think some make-up sex is going to be the end of this discussion.’

‘I owe you--’ Eve starts, but Isabelle tightens her grip again and all air is stopped in Eve’s throat. She closes her eyes and dips beneath that delicious line of consciousness for just a moment, right before Isabelle removes the chokehold and Eve gasps for breath.

‘Fuck,’ she says, ‘you’re amazing.’

Out of nowhere, Isabelle demands, ‘Have you fucked anyone else? Have you?’

Eve shakes her head. ‘No. I couldn’t. I’d make out with strangers and then wish it was you. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t let anyone touch me.’

Isabelle moans loudly at that, and starts to curl her fingers so they hit the spot that makes Eve’s heart race and her hips pivot. She’s chasing the end she wants so badly, she’s nearly there--

‘I hated you so much sometimes,’ Isabelle murmurs, ‘But I never stopped loving you, either. Jerk.’

Eve groans when Isabelle lightly chokes her again, and she grips tighter for longer this time. The asphyxiation is enough to make the orgasm start to grow inside her, threaten to release if Isabelle thrusts just right, just a little more--

And then Isabelle’s hands are off of her again.

The sudden intake for air, and abrupt denial  _again_  is almost too much, now. Eve is shaking, tremulous, and overwhelmed.

Isabelle holds her down, kissing her softly on her neck, her cheeks, her eyes, whispering, ‘I fucking missed this. I missed the sounds you make. I can’t believe I almost lost you, baby.’

‘Please,’ Eve begs, her voice high and broken, ‘please — I need it--’

Isabelle kisses her full on the lips and the sensation makes Eve shiver. All of Isabelle’s naked body on top of hers, her wet lips, her smell, her taste — she just wants to live and die there. She can’t believe she almost lost it, either.

‘Wait here,’ Isabelle instructs, before diving off the bed and retrieving something from her wardrobe. Eve heaves for breath for a few moments and then turns her head to look at Isabelle, who is now adjusting the belt as she affixes the strap-on dildo. The sight makes Eve’s mouth go dry.

‘Oh fuck,’ she whimpers, but Isabelle doesn’t hear.

When she comes back to the bed, she lets her eyes wander up and down Eve’s vulnerable figure, open and naked in the sheets. She takes hold of her dildo and starts stroking it with lube, letting the slick sounds loudly sound in the room. 

‘Oh,’ she says, quietly. ‘Do you … do you want me to wear a condom on it?’

Eve shakes her head. ‘I trust you.’

The tender, hurt smile that Isabelle gives her is too full of love to take. Eve beckons her over and Isabelle doesn’t hesitate to stand by the edge of the bed and pull Eve by the legs so her pussy is flush against the slick dick she’s sporting between her hips.

‘Shit, oh--’ Eve moans again, and loves the sight of her girlfriend looming over her, pushing her knees to her chest and positioning the tip of the dildo right at her entrance.

‘Take it,’ Isabelle grunts, right as she pushes in, until the dildo is as deep as it can go. Eve moans wantonly, as loudly as she can. She knows Isabelle likes it like that. And she’ll do anything Isabelle wants. 

‘That’s it,’ Isabelle says, ‘take it,’ just as she scratches down the back of Eve’s thighs, then smooths the pain away by caressing her skin, and then grabbing with both hands the plump roundness of Eve’s ass.

She thrusts in and out, starting with a slow pace, until she decides against that, and turns on the dildo’s vibration setting to the third highest setting.

There’s no sense to the sounds coming out of Eve’s mouth, now. She’s whining, groaning, yelling her pleasure and relief like they’re the only people in Trondheim.

With Isabelle thrusting in and out, the room is full of the slick sounds of lube, and slapping skin, and desperate panting for breath. 

‘Ooooh fuck,’ Isabelle grunts as she thrusts in particularly deep, ‘you take me so good, princess.’

The nickname takes Eve by surprise, and she flushes hot for a second, feeling more exposed than ever.

‘Fuck me harder,’ she hears herself say, and she doesn’t know where those words came from, but Isabelle listens and starts to piston her hips, fucking into Eve like she’s going to split her in two.

‘Look at you,’ Isabelle moans, ‘god, you’re so wet, you sound so hot.’

‘ _Ah_ ,’ Eve shouts, ‘I’m-- I’m gonna--’

‘Cum,’ Isabelle says, ‘now, come on, baby.’

And that’s all it takes. Eve lets out one last primal scream and her orgasm overtakes her. It starts between her legs, white hot and huge, and its impact spreads out through her, as her toes curl and her back arches, and her legs rise, and her eyes clench shut. It makes a new sheen of sweat come out over her skin, and she can hardly believe the grunting, deep sounds she’s making as she rides out the last of it.

Isabelle is still thrusting in, and Eve pushes a hand out to signal her to slow. So she does, and turns off the vibration, but leaves the dildo inside her. 

Eve comes down for half a minute, and slowly opens her eyes, then launches herself up to kiss the life out of her girlfriend, desperate and longing and so raw with tenderness she might burst.

But then Isabelle starts to fuck in and out of her again, and turns the vibration on to its lowest setting, but even that is almost painful. 

Eve falls back on the bed. ‘Issy, I--’

‘Can you take it?’ she asks, and her pupils are so dilated, Eve can hardly see the colour in her eyes.

‘Oh fuck,’ she whispers. They’ve never done this before. She’d mentioned one night how she wanted to try overstimulation, but it had only been after Isabelle moved to Trondheim.

‘Can you?’ Isabelle repeats.

‘I’m.. I’m so sensitive, the vibration’s made my clit so swollen--’

‘Good,’ Isabelle says, and turns the vibration to the highest it can go. She doesn’t wait to start fucking Eve again, rough and deep and unforgiving. It’s overwhelming. It’s perfection.

Eve has both hands in her own hair, and she’s moaning so much she’s lost her voice. ‘Oh, fuck, oh god, oh-- oh Issy--’

‘It hurts so good, doesn’t it?’ Isabelle demands, before she suddenly pulls Eve to her chest, and rolls onto her back. Eve is startled, going from missionary to cowgirl in just a split second, but she’s too far gone to stop now. She lifts herself up enough to drop back down and hit the spot she wants, and then does it again, and again.

‘Unh,’ Isabelle grunts, ‘love seeing you like this. Riding my dick so good. Love seeing your tits just jump every time you fuck yourself.’

Eve places both hands on Isabelle’s hips and starts to fuck herself in earnest, her orgasm all too close now, she can feel it on the tip of her tongue.

‘Don’t--’ Isabelle starts, then moans again. ‘Ugh. don’t ever break up with me again, idiot.’

‘Ok,’ Eve moans back.

‘Swear?’ Isabelle demands, pulling Eve down again and again onto her strapon, holding firmly onto her hips as she insists on the answer.

‘I swear.’

‘Cum again,’ Isabelle says, ‘cum again. Do it, now.’

It’s much too soon, but Eve’s body is weak for Isabelle’s words. And so she does, she lets out a stuttering groan, and her orgasm shoots from some deep part of her through a concentrated force between her legs. And that’s when she feels the movement get softer, faster, as Isabelle moans loudly, ‘Oh baby, oh god, you-- you squirted for me, you’re so good, fuck, you’re so good for me.’

Eve falls down into the space of comfort and bliss, cushioned on all sides by the long hair between her fingers, the smell of Isabelle’s skin, the taste of her, and the distance from her body to the outside world. She stays there until she can resurface, her ears still pounding with the rush of blood, her jaw still tight from being hinged open, and her thighs burning with the exertion. She feels spent. She feels exhausted. She feels safe.

‘I meant it,’ she murmurs into Isabelle’s shoulder, signalling that she’s back.

‘You better have,’ Isabelle whispers back.

‘I’m never leaving you again,’ she says, mouthing at Isabelle’s skin. ‘I can’t. You’re everything to me.’

Isabelle lets out a shaky sigh and she gathers the duvet to cover them both. ‘I believe you. I might not trust you as quickly as I did before, but we can work on that. Starting tomorrow.’

Eve nods sleepily, and kisses her skin again. ‘Tomorrow,’ she echoes.

‘Tonight I just want to hold you and start to understand that you’re really here.’ The waver in Isabelle’s voice is back, and Eve clutches on to her tighter than before.

‘I’m here,’ she reassures her. ‘I’m here for good.’

She falls asleep right after Isabelle leaves a kiss in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying I'm done writing this AU. Looks like I lied again, folks. Hope you enjoyed it <3


	5. Pynk beyond forest and thighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This picks up where Chapter 4 left off: the morning after Eve arrives in Trondheim. She has a lot to talk over with Isabelle, and soon the summer comes, and they both have a lot of change coming. Featuring: bad employers, overworking, misgendering, deadnames, a new job, new friends, a haircut, some smut, and a bright future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is specially for Alt_er_even and her sweet cheerleading, joy, and loveliness. also, this chapter is unbetaed, unedited, uncut, and there are quite a few time jumps. i hope you guys still enjoy <3

Eve wakes up sometime just after dawn. The room is full of a pale blue light from the curtainless window, and there’s a fresh smell of sea salt on the draught coming in through the timberframe. 

 

_ Right. I’m in Trondheim, now _ .

 

She has an arm full of Isabelle, who’s sprawled across her, her right arm curled up under Eve’s breast and around, so her fist rests in Eve’s armpit, and Eve can’t help but let out a contented breath at the feeling of her so close. She kisses the top of her head. Isabelle hums in her sleep.

 

She feels it everywhere, just how badly she wants this. And it feels more sure now, more permanent than it did before. Though, they have a long way to go.

 

A seagull cries outside, and Eve smiles at the sound. She’ll have to get used to that, too.

 

Isabelle stirs, and they don’t speak for a while. They just gaze at each other, occasionally stroking patterns into the others’ skin. And Eve thinks about how much has changed since their first date back in Lighthouse nearly two years before. How much they’ve grown. And yet how much she still falls in love with Isabelle every day.

 

When Isabelle kisses her good morning, something is healed.

  
  
  
  


They have a quiet breakfast, slow and hushed, the only sounds coming from the occasional footsteps outside, the seagulls in the harbour, the wind whistling along the roof, the drip of the coffee maker. Eve doesn’t stop holding Isabelle’s hand as they eat and drink in contented silence. 

 

Though she’s more peaceful than she has been in some time, there’s a lot they need to sort first. And inevitably, the silence turns heavy.

 

It’s scary, to face into the possibility that this might not work. That they might talk about this and figure out a way forward, and that it might all end in another break-up. But Eve swallows her terror and squeezes Isabelle’s hand whenever she feels apprehensive.

 

They start with the immediate problems: how Eve needs to look for a new job, Isabelle’s stress ahead of a new semester, their questionable finances. And they agree it can all be sorted, one step at a time. Eve will start sending out CVs tomorrow. Isabelle will make a study plan around her upcoming deadlines. They’ll get a better idea of budget once Eve has some income.

 

The more pressing issue is how to work through the anxieties that led them to split up in the first place. And Eve knows she’ll be making up for that decision for quite some time.

 

‘No, baby,’ Isabelle says, impatient. ‘I don’t want us to carry that around like a burden. It’s done, it’s over. What is the point in guilting each other for it? Seriously. We need to move past it.’

 

Eve tries to butt in, but Isabelle talks over her: ‘I love who you are. So much. And sometimes, honestly, I… I don’t feel like I’m enough.’

 

The admission unsettles Eve’s contentment, and she’s stung by the realisation that she’s responsible for Isabelle’s self-doubt. She brought it out, all because she was too scared to face up to what she really wanted. 

 

‘Or that I don’t fully deserve you, I guess,’ Isabelle says, her face attempting to mask how much the admission bothers her, ‘And I know that’s dumb, obviously, but that’s why the break-up was so hard. I couldn’t believe the reasons you kept telling me. I kept hearing the voice inside my head that said,  _ You’re not good enough _ .’

 

The repulsion that courses through Eve is totalising, but she knows if she gives in to that, she’ll only make everything worse. They need honesty, now, not recriminations. 

 

So, she leans forward across the table to kiss Isabelle.

 

As she does, she lingers. Kisses her again. Tries without words to impress upon her that those insecurities are nonsense.

 

‘How can we work on that?’ Eve asks against her lips. ‘I feel it sometimes, too. And it doesn’t do either of us good.’

 

Isabelle visibly relaxes at Eve’s response. And she smirks. Eve just knows what’s coming next.

 

‘I guess we could start by giving each other physical reassurance,’ Isabelle says provocatively.

 

‘I love that idea,’ Eve counters, with a finger raised, ‘obviously. But it’s probably not the whole answer.’

 

‘But I think the hole  _ is  _ the answer,’ Isabelle says, frowning. 

 

Eve is caught mid-breath, and stops what she was about to say to gape across at her girlfriend. She drops her hand and can’t believe she just heard those words come from Isabelle’s mouth.

 

‘Did you-- was that a pun?’ she asks, incredulous.

 

Isabelle laughs to herself, her dimples and gapped teeth on show, and Eve feels warmth spread through her at the sight. 

 

‘Yes, it was,’ Isabelle says, proudly, and then nudges Eve’s knee under the table. The way Isabelle looks at her is overwhelming. Tender. Fond. Perfect.

 

Eve beams back, and laughs, ‘I can’t believe you. We’re trying to have a serious conversation--’

 

‘I was being serious--’

 

‘--And you just interrupt with a sex joke! And a pun!’

 

Isabelle shrugs, ‘Honestly I don’t know why you act like you’re surprised.’ But her sly wink tells Eve that she’s looking out for them both, trying to make this talk a little easier.

 

With that, Eve’s heart expands. Each time she thinks she’s reached the limit of her love for Isabelle, she finds out there’s far more.

 

But all too soon, they both settle back into a more solemn tone, knowing they have to be responsible about this. And Isabelle says, ‘I think … we shouldn’t rush. That’s the key. We need to work on ourselves. You, being here, is a big enough deal for now. For this relationship. I don’t want any big shifts in the next few months at least, you know?’

 

‘What kind of shifts?’ Eve asks. 

 

It’s a good thing to outline now, Eve thinks. They don’t need more pressure put on either of them while they adjust.

 

‘No joint bank accounts,’ Isabelle says, and Eve can’t help but crack a smile. Their mutual distaste for financial decisions is going to bite them someday, but as of right now, she has no objection to avoiding that extra paperwork.

 

‘No retirement plans,’ Eve offers back, and Isabelle nods.

 

‘No talk about marriage yet. For at least a year,’ Isabelle continues, watching Eve’s face carefully as she says so. And Eve nods. 

 

‘We’re both pretty ambivalent about it as an institution, so, yeah. That’s a long conversation for sure. And not one that’s urgent,’ Eve agrees.

 

‘No talk about … kids, yet, either,’ Isabelle says, but her voice is soft. They haven’t ever had this discussion. 

 

Eve smiles sadly, and tries to swallow the bitterness. 

 

Kids. 

 

She doesn’t want to be jealous, or devastated, or angry at the fact that she and Isabelle have so much more to consider if they ever want to have children. Not just for being a queer couple, not just because Isabelle is genderfluid, and not just because Eve is trans. But because Eve’s options are incredibly limited.

 

When she transitioned, she didn’t think twice about giving up her sex organs. They never felt right, they only made her feel wrong in her own skin. But now, though her body is finally one that reflects how she feels on the inside, she can’t give Isabelle sperm to fertilise an egg. She doesn’t have ovaries of her own to produce an egg instead. And she doesn’t have a uterus to carry a baby. She’s just a grey area between all the ways humans can reproduce. 

 

The ugly feeling returns, the all-encompassing thick black feeling of body dysmorphia, that terrible shaking hatred, and Eve has to try not to fall prey to it. Isabelle never meant to bring this on, this is just a simple talk about the next few months, and how to adjust. But already Eve’s jumping forward to the next obvious problem, to how she’s going to fail, to the inevitable dealbreaker--

 

Isabelle cups Eve’s face with both hands. She leans in, glancing their noses off each other, grounding Eve in the present.

 

‘You with me?’ she whispers.

 

Eve nods, holding on to Isabelle’s wrists, and she can see the question in Isabelle’s eyes. But now’s not the time to go into their reproductive options, or Eve’s body issues, so she doesn’t encourage the topic.

 

Isabelle steps carefully around the obvious sore spot, and continues, ‘Ok. Lastly. No talk about what we do once my Masters is over. We’ll deal with that closer to the time.’

 

They both relax a little, the promise of postponing hard decisions giving them a bit more breathing room. 

 

‘I just want to focus on now,’ Isabelle says, ‘On being good to ourselves first. And then, that’ll make it easier to be good for each other.’

 

And just like that, Eve is more confident in their endurance than she’s ever been. 

 

She kisses her again, and again. Isabelle hums, but her hums grow into groans when Eve’s knees hit the kitchen floor, and her hands gently push Isabelle’s knees apart.

 

\--

 

Their first major problem comes when Elsker, the club where Eve used to DJ in Oslo, refuses to send her the last month’s pay, citing ‘insufficient notice’ as ample reason for withholding it. Eve had been relying on that to keep her afloat in Trondheim, splitting Isabelle’s rent firstly, and then paving the way for her to start a job search in earnest. 

 

It feels like failure all over again when  _ once more  _ she can’t afford the basic expenses she’d promised Isabelle she would share. And it takes every scrap of strength in her not to wallow in guilt and shame about it. 

 

But she remembers all too vividly the agony of separation she’d enforced the last time she indulged such shame. And she swears, never again. What surprises her is how quickly she adapts, how she learns to allow that some things are outside her control -- like the unjust refusal of her hard-earned wages -- but the way she addresses her own insecurities is something she  _ does  _ have absolute power over. 

 

So, she calmly explains to Isabelle that Elsker are trying to pull one over on her, and that she can’t contribute to bills until she’s sorted it. And then she calls the financial ombudsman for advice. 

 

They advise her to send a formal letter requesting the money, citing the correct labour laws that mandate payment for services provided. And when the club doesn’t respond in the requisite two weeks, Eve gets a pro bono solicitor, who threatens the club with a court case unless they pay her wages. 

 

Within a week, she has 20,000NOK more in her account, and she breathes a heavy sigh of relief. She can do this. She can be there for Isabelle, and learn how to take care of herself in the process.

 

\--

 

The next problem comes when Isabelle’s studies take over her life towards the end of the semester.

 

Between February, when Eve arrives in Trondheim, and May, when Isabelle sits her exams, she lives through four gruelling months of labs, papers, and conference talks, to gain the sufficient amount of credits to progress to Year 2 of the programme. And of course, Isabelle doesn’t feel ‘sufficient’ is enough -- she wants to exceed all expectations -- so she takes an extra 40 credits to ensure her performance ranks above everyone else. 

 

The toll it takes on her is unmistakable, though. She sleeps no more than 5 hours a night, her appetite is unpredictable, and soon she is having consistent stress dreams, as well as weekly burn-outs, where she sleeps for 15, 18, 20 hours at a go. She becomes anaemic, as well as constipated from dehydration, and it’s not long before she develops a minor gaming addiction to fill the hours she isn’t tired enough to sleep and isn’t awake enough to study.

 

Eve feels a profound anxiety every time she leaves Isabelle to go to her new job. But Isabelle insists that Eve should focus on her work, and on settling in to a new routine. And Eve wants to, she’s excited for it, for the opportunity to feel independent again -- making coffee, meeting people, and finding a starting point for her life in Trondheim. The place that employs her, Dromedar café, is a great opportunity: it’s the town’s oldest coffee shop, near the picturesque Old Town bridge, priding itself on inclusivity and equal opportunities. It was for that reason that Eve felt comfortable declaring her trans* status on the application form -- a first for her.

 

But each night she comes home, she’s reminded again what she had to leave that morning. 

 

All that talk of working on themselves seems to fly out the window where the seagulls’ cries come in every morning. 

 

‘I can manage,’ Isabelle slurs while she pulls herself out of bed when her alarm goes off at 7am, ignoring the fact she only fell asleep three hours before.

 

‘Isabelle, honey,’ Eve begins, but Isabelle cuts her off: ‘I just have to do this, ok?’

 

It continues like this, until a night in April when Isabelle stays out at the library ‘til midnight, having been there since 8.30 the same morning, and Eve decides enough is enough.

 

Once Eve watches the long hand of their clock hit twelve, she stands up from the chair, heading out to the hallway to put her coat and boots on, and then she bolts out the door. Their flat is part of a block of four on a quiet suburban street just a fifteen minute walk from the NTNU library. But Eve is running.

 

It’s as she quickly passes Dødens dal that she notices a figure like Isabelle’s walking towards her, dimly lit by the streetlamps.

 

And she’s heaving out strangled sounds: there’s no doubt, Isabelle is crying. 

 

When she nears, Isabelle doesn’t notice that Eve is right there, until Eve calls her name, at which her head snaps up. 

 

She stares at Eve for a moment, shocked to see her, and they both pause, taking the other in. As Isabelle catches up with the fact that she’s really there, that she’s not alone, her face crumples into a heavy sob, and she drops her head into her hands. Eve rushes forward and gathers her into her arms, and holds her, swaying her back at forth, trying to soothe her.

 

‘Baby,’ she whispers into Isabelle’s beanie, ‘are you ok? Love, what happened?’

 

Isabelle sniffs, wipes her nose against the back of her hand, and takes a shuddering breath against Eve’s collarbone. ‘I-- I’m being an idiot. I just-- I got misgendered, and I’m overreacting but I’m just so tired, I’m so tired, Eve,’ she says. 

 

And Eve frowns, first confused and then furious, absolutely furious that anyone would hurt her darling like this. 

 

‘What happened?’ Eve asks, failing to keep the steely anger from her voice.

 

‘It’s dumb,’ Isabelle whispers, shaking her head, and Eve kisses her temple,.

 

‘Tell me,’ she implores, and Isabelle takes another shaky breath.

 

‘I was on the fifth floor, in the silent study space, and this group of girls were working at a desk close to mine, and-- and-- I don’t know,’ she says, curling up into Eve’s embrace, ‘I guess I’m pretty masc-of-centre today, I’m in this ratty oversized hoodie, and your sweatpants, and I didn’t shower this morning, and I’m not wearing makeup, and my hair is hidden under this beanie-- but, so, anyway I-- well, I guess they read me as male. Which, obviously, I shouldn’t care, what does it matter, it’s not like I’m fully “a girl” anyway, but--’

 

‘Darling,’ Eve murmurs, leaving another kiss on Isabelle’s head. ‘What did they say?’

 

‘They-- they were giggling and it was distracting the hell out of me, so I turned to them and asked if they could move to one of the group study spaces, and this-- this girl turned to her friend-- and she-- she said, “Where does this guy get off,” and I-- I looked at her, confused. That’s when her fucking friends started laugh--  _ laughing  _ at me, and then another one of them said, “Oh shit,  **_it’s_ ** a girl apparently,” and I just-- that--’

 

Isabelle’s rant becomes fragmented and incoherent against Eve’s chest. And Eve tries not to cry herself, wanting to make it better, and heal whatever wound these idiots made.

 

‘It’s just… I wanted to just-- I was so  _ humiliated  _ and  _ pissed  _ with them, but they just … they just kept laughing at me-- ugh, I wish I’d fucking punched them--’

 

The rest of her words are lost in furious shrieks, and Eve feels her heart break all over again. She holds Isabelle, hoping against hope this is enough to calm her down.

 

‘Ugh, fuck them,’ Isabelle says, ‘I don’t fucking care-- I’m not going to let this bullshit distract me--’

 

Eve squeezes her close, and kisses her full on the lips, just once. It’s a wordless reminder. And Isabelle can’t meet her eyes.

 

Finally she calms enough to say, ‘You were looking for me,’ then she glances up at Eve.

 

‘Yeah,’ Eve says, ‘you were gone for 15 hours. I wondered if you’d fallen into Dødens dal and gotten mauled by an elk.’

 

Isabelle huffs out a laugh, and says, ‘To be fair, I’d only be attacked by an elk if I was harming their calf. In which case, I’d deserve it.’

 

There’s a pregnant pause where Eve tries to hide the twang of hurt at the reminder of children, and Isabelle slowly realises she’s misstepped. But Eve covers it, leaves a kiss on Isabelle’s cheek, reaches down for her hand and turns them both for home.

 

‘You wanna talk about it?’ she prompts gently. And Isabelle knows Eve doesn’t mean family planning, or the clique in the library.

 

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Isabelle answers, honestly.

 

They walk a few more steps in silence, and Eve waits for Isabelle to decide whether or not she wants this conversation. And to give Isabelle a chance to calm down. 

 

After a minute or so, Isabelle finally says,

 

‘I-- I’ve noticed how I’m less and less interested in appearing femme these days. I just feel more comfortable when I’m in something that flattens the lines of my body, makes them more androgynous. And… that’s not a huge shock, obviously. But it’s the first time it’s kind of happened from within, instead of me actively performing it, if that makes sense?’

 

Eve nods, and squeezes her hand. ‘Yeah, baby. It makes total sense. And it doesn’t matter that they don’t understand it. The point is you like how you feel.’

 

‘Well--’ Isabelle starts, and then pauses. She hesitates a few moments longer, until finally she says, ‘I… I actually wondered how you might feel about that.’

 

Eve glances across at her. ‘What do you mean? Like, if I’d be against it?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Isabelle says, quietly. ‘Would you…  _ how  _ would you react if I was more masc-presenting?’

 

Eve considers it. She doesn’t think it would matter. Isabelle is still Isabelle, regardless of what she looks like on the outside. 

 

‘I think you know I wouldn’t mind in the least,’ Eve answers. ‘But I feel like you’re actually trying to ask something else?’

 

Isabelle smiles and sighs. ‘How are you so damn intuitive.’

 

‘It’s that Aquarius sun,’ Eve jokes, and Isabelle rolls her eyes.

 

They walk a little more in silence while Isabelle gathers the momentum to speak again. When she does, she squeezes Eve’s hand the whole time. 

 

‘I… I worry that me being genderfluid is… maybe it’s not true. Maybe I’m not genderfluid, or genderqueer. Maybe I’m non-binary. Or maybe I’m trans. Or, maybe I’m not any of those things, maybe I’m a boring cis lesbian who’s blown everything out of proportion--’

 

‘Hey,’ Eve says, stopping her, making them both pause in the middle of the path, and trying to catch her eye. ‘Is. Look at me.’

 

It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation, and it ultimately comes back to one simple thing:

 

‘Gender is not a fact,’ Eve says, letting her confidence bleed through every syllable. ‘It’s how you feel.’

 

A heartstopping moment of stillness passes between them, where Isabelle is frozen on the spot, looking back at Eve with something close to astonishment. Eve wonders if she said the wrong thing, if she’s just confirmed all of Isabelle’s fears instead of assuaging them, until Isabelle steps into her space and kisses her on the lips, deep and long and savage.

 

When she pulls back, their mouths are both wet, and they separate with a  _ pop _ . Eve chuckles at it. She sees how Isabelle stares at her lips, and leaves another simple kiss on them. Then, she lifts Eve’s spirit to a new plane of joy, when she says, ‘You love me so good, you know?’

 

By the time they get home, Isabelle’s lips are swollen from Eve’s teeth.

 

\--

 

Later in bed, Isabelle curls around Eve and says simply, ‘I think in another universe, I’m a dude.’

 

Eve laughs, and drags her knee up over her waist. ‘Maybe I am, too.’

 

\--

 

Of course, Isabelle excels in all her assignments, and in her exams. She’s top of her class, with special merits from her professors for taking on extra credits. 

 

But, she promises Eve, she’s never doing it again. And she starts going to weekly counselling, too, to figure out more concrete ways of working through her anxieties.

 

It takes her the rest of the summer to recuperate, for her body to go back to 8 hours of sleep a night, and to have a normal diet. Eve is so happy to see her girlfriend well again. But, she doesn’t see much of her: summer is the busiest time in Trondheim, when the service industry makes the most of its profit from peak tourist season, and Eve is working almost 60 hours a week when Dromedar loses one of their baristas. 

 

It happens right in the middle of July, and Eve could scream from frustration, though she’s also delighted for Sofie, and her new pregnancy. But the café has already been run off its feet with the unprecedented numbers of tourist coaches, hiking groups, and Oslo holidayers, as well as the local custom. She doesn’t know how they’re supposed to cope now they’ve lost a full-time member of staff.

 

Luckily, her line manager responds quickly, and promotes Eve to team leader in Sofie’s stead -- a boost to Eve’s confidence as well as her wages -- and they conduct a round of interviews the following week. After getting through the huge pile of applications in a pressurised late-night reading session, they narrow down the candidates to 10. And out of those, only one is the right person as far as Eve’s concerned.

 

She’s just moved to Trondheim from California, having saved for a few years to afford a year-long career break in Norway. Eve likes her the moment she walks into Dromedar -- she has gauged ears, lip piercings, and visible tattoos, and Eve loves that she doesn’t cover up any of it for the interview, that she is just unapologetically herself. It helps that she is also wearing a pan pride pin on her satchel.

 

KT, it turns out, has vast experience in being a barista -- which is obvious just from how easily she works around the espresso machine -- and soon she and Eve are rapt in conversation about dogs, tv shows, and how much they need to prepare for winter. 

 

‘I’m serious,’ KT laughs, ‘it’s fucking July, and it’s barely sixty degrees. What happens in January?!’

 

‘Cold weather,’ Eve responds, solemnly. ‘Snow joke.’

 

It takes KT a moment to realise the pun and when she does she beams back at Eve, and says, ‘Chill.’

 

Eve can’t help but burst out laughing. She dispenses with formality and tells KT to just come in for her first shift the next Monday.

 

It’s not long before Eve considers KT one of her closest friends. (Isabelle valiantly tries not to be jealous.)

 

\--

 

Summer nights in Trondheim are spectacular, the sun never dipping far below the horizon for three months. Eve has lost count of the photos she’s taken of Isabelle in midnight sun, her hair glowing in the light.

 

But after pointing this out one day in July, Isabelle says, ‘I might cut it.’

 

Eve is a little shocked, but she realises in the few moments it takes her to respond, that Isabelle has been dropping hints for a while. It began the night she was misgendered -- the very next morning, Isabelle woke up and told Eve, ‘I’m never letting that shit get to me again.’ The next week she joined a queer studies group.

 

The group is where she meets a few people she is growing to call friends, who all encourage her to follow what feels comfortable. Isabelle starts deliberately wearing more and more unisex clothing. She reads more about gender presentation, about sexuality and identity, and picks Eve’s brain at night in bed, trying to get a better sense of it.

 

So when she says she’s thinking of cutting her hair, Eve can guess what she really means. And she smiles.

 

‘Can’t wait to see it,’ Eve says. Isabelle’s nerves dissipate, so she rolls her eyes.

 

\--

 

August comes, and Isabelle is trying to enjoy the last few weeks of summer before the new semester starts. She’s been out hiking, swimming, getting fit again to make up for her inactivity earlier in the year, and the workouts start to show -- her arms are tanned, her legs more defined, her shoulders broad. And Eve loves seeing her like this, confident and healthy and bright.

 

They’ve been in Trondheim for half a year, now. Eve has barely felt the time go, she’s been so busy with the café and trying to work on some film projects on the side. She and Isabelle still manage to take some time once or twice a week to go out for a coffee, hold hands in Nidaros Cathedral, scale the Kristiansten Fortress, or just walk along the river at sunset.

 

And those are the moment’s she’s cherished the most. Despite how much they still miss Oslo, and their friends there, they’re settling more and more into Trondheim. It takes a long time for them both to feel like they’ve integrated, but when they do, Oslo doesn’t feel so terribly far away.

 

For Eve, it’s KT who makes her feel more connected, after she comes by Isabelle and Eve’s flat for a handful of tv marathons and knitting sessions. Eve loves these domestic nights, though Isabelle never fails to fall asleep every time -- leading to some incriminating evidence on Eve’s phone, usually with Isabelle’s face covered in black marker.

 

For Isabelle, it’s the queer studies group that helps her settle in. Three people in particular -- a bisexual chemist named Kristian, a gay linguist named Fredrik, and a nonbinary lit student called Astrid -- become close with her. (Eve valiantly tries not to be jealous.) But after a few hiking trips into the national park -- and two long, dramatic nights in ME Nightclub featuring public sex and lost ID -- Eve considers the three of them her friends, too.

 

\--

 

It’s one Tuesday afternoon in mid-August -- when Eve has a blissful day off -- that it finally happens.

 

After a few weeks of debating it, Isabelle finally made an appointment at the hairdressers’. And she instructed Eve to stay home the day she finally went -- she wanted to do it on her own, and have some time to adjust before Eve saw it. 

 

So, Eve is reading in their little snug living room, with the glorious amber sunlight beaming in the window. She notices how her hair has gotten longer this year, the ends of it well past her shoulders, almost as long as Isabelle’s. And it makes her smile, to be reminded of where Isabelle is right now.

 

The image is vague but foremost in Eve’s mind. She can’t really imagine what Isabelle must look like with short hair on the sides, but she knows it will accentuate her features. She’s almost trembling with excitement. She knows it’s going to be a shock, but she can’t wait. 

 

Isabelle had left the house that morning wearing blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt, loose fitting around her frame, and Eve wonders if she’s ever looked hotter. The style makes her hold herself more upright, walk with more confidence, and it’s maddening how even the most casual outfit on her looks stunning. Not that Eve is biased.

 

And now, close to 2pm, Eve suddenly hears the key in the lock. Her heart picks up double-time.

 

\--

 

Isabelle opens the door, knowing that Eve will have heard the lock turn from wherever she is in the flat. She steps in, knowing that she only has these last few moments before Eve sees, before it’s official. She knows, of course she knows that Eve will never like her less for something as shallow as a haircut, but she can’t help the way her stomach twists a little in anxiety. 

 

Before she goes any further, she glances to look in the mirror in their hallway, and drags her fingers through the chopped locks on her head, enjoying the new feel of them, the freedom of it. The barber clipped her hair tight around the sides and back, leaving it curly around her temples and longer on her crown. It’s light blonde after the long summer, and she notices how the style of it shows off more of her face -- her strong jaw, her high cheekbones. It brings out her eyes in a way she’s never fully appreciated before. Her profile is more pronounced too, the shape of her neck…

 

She can’t believe how much she likes it, how much she feels a pleasurable zing in her gut from just looking at her own reflection.

 

But she doesn’t stare for long. She wants to know what Eve’s reaction is.

 

So, she takes off her coat, toes off her shoes, and walks into the living room without a second thought. As she crosses the threshold, Eve’s eyes jump up from the page she’s reading. And then Eve drops the book on the floor.

 

In a moment, Eve is in Isabelle’s space, her eyes darting around Isabelle’s features, her hands moving to touch her shorn hair. And Eve’s not giving anything away. She’s just … staring.

 

Eve can’t speak. She licks her lips and scratches lightly at Isabelle’s scalp, then pulls the longer curls at the crown of her head. Isabelle lets out a pleased moan at the feeling.

 

After another minute or so of this, Isabelle huffs. ‘Eve. Say something.’

 

Eve’s eyes snap down to meet her gaze, and without a word, she grabs Isabelle’s hand, and puts it inside her own pants. An unmistakeable sensation spreads across Isabelle’s fingers as she’s guided between Eve’s legs, and it drives the breath from her lungs.

 

‘You… you got wet? Just from looking at me?’ Isabelle asks, reeling.

 

Eve doesn’t respond, just kisses Isabelle once, twice, and then pushes her away from her, up against the wall. She shoves her, not following at once. Just looks at Isabelle, before she smirks darkly in a way that Isabelle  _ really  _ likes, and covers Isabelle’s body with her own, her hands back on her short hair.

 

There’s no doubt about how much Eve is getting from this. She’s grinding her hips against Isabelle’s, she’s plunging her tongue into her mouth, panting and moaning already. Her breath is hot on Isabelle’s face, and it’s all Isabelle can do to hold on and try to keep up with Eve’s onslaught of affection.

 

‘Your-- your face--’ Eve murmurs between kisses down to her neck. ‘Your jaw…’

 

Isabelle starts to smile, and starts to really enjoy this. She loves seeing Eve this way, overcome and aroused and impatient.

 

‘Will you go down on me?’ Eve suddenly breathes, looking into Isabelle’s eyes like she’s worried she’s asking too much.

 

Isabelle crooks an eyebrow at her, curious about whatever ulterior motive she’s got, but she loves eating out her girlfriend as much as she loves Eve going down on her. So, it’s not really an issue.

 

Without a word, Isabelle nudges Eve back, further away from her, pushes her again, and finally shoves her back into the armchair. ‘Hey!’ Eve protests, and throws her arms and legs out to catch her balance, and she looks up at Isabelle with something between outrage and arousal. 

 

Isabelle, meanwhile, takes full advantage, holding Eve’s knees apart as she kneels between them, moving her hands teasingly up Eve’s thighs so she can pull at her waistband.

 

\--

 

‘I honestly-- didn’t know-- you could get-- any hotter,’ Eve pants out, one hand above her, clasping onto the back of the armchair, one hand gripping the curls on the crown of Isabelle’s head.

 

Isabelle is teasing Eve endlessly, licking too softly over her labia and her clit, pressing into the divots near her hip bones, scratching gently along her skin. 

 

It’s not ‘til Eve starts to clamp Isabelle’s head between her legs that she realises her hair is grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of Eve’s thighs. 

 

She tilts her head up to speak, and worriedly asks, ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’ 

 

Eve opens her eyes to glance down, and she smiles wide and happy at Isabelle, caressing her cheek with the hand that, ‘til now, hasn’t lessened its death grip on her hair.    
  
‘I want the burn,’ she answers, simply.

 

Isabelle stares up at Eve from under her brows and lets her mouth drop open, her tongue peek out, as it laps up the slick again.

 

Eve curses under her breath, arches her back, tries to force Isabelle to go harder, faster. But Isabelle loves nothing more than this, the feeling of Eve around her, the warm, soft, weight of her. And so she puckers her pout and runs it all over her most intimate places, just feeling them with her lips. Eve writhes, over-sensitized and too damn horny for this, and starts to jut her hips forward, hoping against hope that Isabelle will finally get the damn message.

 

Isabelle laughs, relaxing into the absolute pleasure of it, and decides to switch it up. She puts her hands under Eve’s knees and forces them back to her chest, so that everything is on display. Eve is perched on her back on the armchair, her feet in the air.

 

‘Baby--’ Eve starts, her face flushed, and then Isabelle licks her all the way up, from back to front, and then focuses her attention on Eve’s clit. Really focuses. 

 

She starts with broad strokes with the flat of her tongue, and her fingers dance lightly along Eve’s folds, rubbing and touching where it makes her feel good. Then, while Eve groans out her delight, Isabelle uses the tip of her tongue to mark sensation around her clit, letting it only barely glance at it directly, and Eve starts to whine.

 

When Isabelle starts to lap at it with her tongue, Eve’s eyes roll back in her head, and the words she’s trying to say become incoherent noises. Isabelle knows exactly what pressure to use, as it steadily increases, and then, all at once, she starts to move her tongue back and forth across it, flicking in horizontal lines, and Eve can feel the electric heat in her pelvis, she knows, it won’t take much now, she can feel it coming--

 

Then Isabelle moves her hands to the outside of Eve’s thighs, and pushes them together, so her shorn hair continues to scratch intensely at her most sensitive skin. At the same time, she moves forward, more on top of Eve, as her tongue begins to lick her with the most amount of pressure she can apply. She breathes heavy on Eve’s clit in between every flick, letting it gently bounce back on her teeth, and that does it.

 

Eve tenses, her hands clutching her knees closer to her chest, her face scrunched up as she screams, and Isabelle loves feeling the way Eve’s whole body heats up at her release. 

 

She wipes her chin on her sleeve, and grins up at Eve, who’s slowly letting go of her legs, moving them down and around Isabelle, still kneeling on the floor. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her mouth open, and her hand is twisted in her own hair, her eyes closed in bliss.

 

Isabelle kisses over the red and sore parts of her thighs, licking the parts that look particularly tender, and Eve hisses a little in response, though the muted sounds she makes around that indicate she’s enjoying herself.

 

Once Eve calms enough to open her eyes and look happily down at Isabelle, they both crack a smile.

 

‘Well,’ Eve says. ‘That was fine.’

 

‘Yeah?’ Isabelle asks, sarcastically, though she’s still on a high.

 

Eve grins down at her, and moves her hand back to Isabelle’s hair, caressing her fingers through it. Her desire is obvious in her gaze, and it settles something in Isabelle.

 

‘What do you think about it?’ Eve asks, sincere and curious.

 

Isabelle turns her head to lightly bite Eve’s thumb, and for a moment, suck on it. She lets it go like she’s licking a lollipop, and then turns back to look at her fucked-out girlfriend. ‘It’s a lot to get used to, I think. But I’ll manage.’

 

Eve’s eyes light up at Isabelle’s cockiness. Her voice drops as she says, ‘I have an idea.’

 

\--

 

There’s a beat before Isabelle completely agrees with what Eve’s proposing. Her eyes drift to the window, where a tern is stopping to ruffle its feathers, beyond which she can see the apartment block on the other side of the street, and the bright blue sky. 

 

She spaced out for a moment, because what Eve’s just muttered into her ear might just kill her.

 

But as soon as the suggestion really settles in her mind, she looks to Eve and breaks into a dirty grin. Without a word, she turns to the fireplace, puts both hands on the mantlepiece, and looks at herself in the mirror, only her new unisex briefs on, while Eve is only wearing a bra. Eve moves behind Isabelle, and puts her hands on Isabelle’s belly, nosing at the nape of her neck.

 

‘Yeah?’ Eve says, looking at Isabelle in the mirror. And Isabelle nods.

 

Then Eve puts her right foot inside Isabelle’s, and pushes it out, forcing Isabelle’s legs to spread. She gasps  _ fuck _ in response, looks to the ground where her feet are now a good meter apart, and that’s when Eve moves her hands to Isabelle’s sides, and walks up behind her, so they’re touching nearly everywhere.

 

‘I want you to keep your eyes on yourself. No matter what happens,’ Eve says in her ear, her fingertips dragging lightly over Isabelle’s stomach. It makes them both shiver.

 

Eve’s hands are always so big on her, and now they’re circling her hips, palms flattening against them, fingers reaching down past her waistband. 

 

The anticipation is already killing Isabelle. She’s never dreamt of suggesting mirror sex before, wanting to make sure it wasn’t asking too much of Eve. But here Eve is, staring her down, eyes dark and attentive, as she grinds up against Isabelle’s ass, her hands reaching down over her mound. Isabelle never knew this was a fantasy of hers til right this second.

 

At the feeling of Eve’s hips and fingers moving ever closer, Isabelle moans out, ‘ _ Yes _ . Baby, more.’

 

‘You’re already so eager, aren’t you?’ Eve asks, in wonder, her eyes drifting all over Isabelle’s figure -- and she must make quite a sight. She’s gripping onto the mantlepiece with rigidly straight arms, her back arched to meet Eve’s grinding, and she’s almost on tip-toe with anticipation.

 

‘Eyes up, love,’ Eve whispers, and Isabelle follows instruction, looking back to herself in the mirror. She’s flushed, her cheeks seeming more red now that there’s no long hair to fall over them. She sees Eve in the mirror, kissing her shoulder, nosing along her skin. And she notices how dilated her own pupils are, how much she likes her face like this, open and wanting and … so much more masculine than she’s used to. It’s like she’s seeing someone else, a dark stranger in a club who’s staring her down with intensity, like they’re hoping to take Isabelle home, like they’re already undressing her with just their eyes.

 

She likes it. And she likes it all the more when Eve pulls her underwear down in one swift tug, and puts both hands between Isabelle’s legs. She can guess where this is going -- Eve will want to keep her at eye level, and that means, both hands, tonight. Isabelle is already sweating in excitement.

 

There is always a thrill to sex with Eve. Though it’s been nearly two years together, she still gets so nervous and happy and giddy at the prospect of Eve’s hands on her. Sometimes it’s quick and rushed, sometimes it’s a means to an end, sometimes it’s drawn out and loving -- but it’s always a turn-on, always a full-body satisfaction. 

 

And right now, Eve mutters, ‘Gorgeous. Look at you.’ 

 

Isabelle stares at herself in the mirror, licks her own lips with pleasure, and Eve rewards her by circling her clit with two fingers. Her left hand moves further back, but the angle is off -- so Eve readjusts, and stands at Isabelle’s side, moving her left hand around to Isabelle’s back, and gliding it down between Isabelle’s asscheeks, past her rim, til it can reach her entrance.

 

‘That’s better,’ Eve says, ‘I can see everything now.’ And she can, since both hands are working Isabelle from each side. 

 

Isabelle’s breath catches for a moment at Eve’s words, and she glances at her to the side. Eve’s gaze follows her and as they look at each other, Eve smiles and giggles a little, like she can’t believe she’s being this dirty, and then she leaves a small kiss on Isabelle’s nose.

 

‘Eyes to the mirror,’ she reminds her, and leans in again to nose at Isabelle’s neck.

 

The mantlepiece marble is cold under Isabelle’s hands -- a welcome relief to the rising heat everywhere else. Because Eve is lightly biting Isabelle’s ear, grinding against her hip, and Isabelle can feel a little wetness from her there, and it’s driving her wild.

 

Still, Isabelle’s gaze is fixed on the mirror. She can see in her peripheral vision how Eve has her eyes closed, her tongue peeking out from between her lips. It’s sexy and cute all at the same time, and Isabelle loves it. Loves the feeling of Eve’s breath on her skin. Loves how exposed she is, naked in their living room, windows open, while Eve murmurs, ‘Can I finger you now?’

 

The answer is obvious, and Isabelle whines, then moves back against Eve’s left hand. 

 

‘Use your words, baby,’ Eve says, and Isabelle would glare at her if she didn’t have a vested interest in looking in the mirror.

 

‘Eve,’ she says, curtly, ‘put your fingers inside me.’

 

And shit -- she didn’t realise til now how it feels to say those words and watch herself say them. It’s powerful. It turns her on. It makes her feel like the sexiest person in the fucking world, gaining pleasure looking at herself while Eve touches her. Like she’s more dominant than she ever imagined.

 

Eve starts sucking a hickey onto her neck, and at the same time, pushes both fingers in, to which Isabelle watches her own face slacken, her mouth open, her eyes try to close. She revels in this -- Eve just feeling her, touching her closely, so intimately. She wishes she could stay in this feeling of fullness all the time, just float on a cloud of increasing gratification.

 

But Eve knows what she’s doing, and she doesn’t let Isabelle plateau for long. Because soon she starts talking, and that always undoes Isabelle.

 

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s it,’ Eve says, guiding Isabelle’s body with both hands, back and forth so she’s constantly stimulated. She can feel the pressure mounting where she’ll eventually find release. It’s so hot to be moved like this, from one point of satisfaction to another, and then Eve’s words too:

 

‘Look at your jawline, baby. So square and strong. The tilt of your chin, and the shape of your neck.  I could stare at you all day,’ Eve says, looking into the mirror with Isabelle. ‘Hmm? How would you like that? Me getting off on just looking at you? You know I can, you already felt how wet I was when you walked in.’

 

Isabelle groans at the reminder, and at how Eve is tapping at her clit. She’s not sure which wins out in terms of turning her on. 

 

‘I think I could come just from watching you,’ Eve admits, ‘just from seeing you like this. So responsive to me, so pretty, making such beautiful sounds. You’re beautiful, Isabelle. You know that?’

 

Isabelle stares at herself in the mirror, heating up from how much it affects her to see herself moaning, loud and wanton.

 

‘Yeah, you do know,’ Eve murmurs, ‘You’re getting off on it, aren’t you? It’s almost too much, seeing you like this. Now you know how much I have to control myself when I’m with you. How much I need to hold back, because you’re just-- so-- sexy--’

 

She starts to punctuate her words with long thrusts in, and she adds a finger, too. Isabelle can barely breathe, she’s so close, now. So close from being doubly stimulated, as well as the stream of dirty talk Eve is letting loose.

 

‘Eve, I-- shit, I need more--’

 

‘Shall I tell you more?’ Eve says, lowly, as she speeds up her fingers stroking Isabelle’s clit, and curls the fingers of her left hand to try and find Isabelle’s weak spot. It works. Isabelle feels like she’s being torn apart in sheer pleasure.

 

Leaning in to Isabelle’s cheek, Eve murmurs, ‘Yknow, I’m going to be at work tomorrow, with a burning feeling in between my legs all day, because of you.’

 

They both moan aloud, and Isabelle knows it’ll take just one a little more, another push, another word, and she’s going to fall apart right here, staring at them both in the mirror. Eve is flushed, too, her hair damp against her temples, her nipples hard even inside her bra, and her hands slick from touching Isabelle. 

 

Eve goes on, unrelenting: ‘I’m going to be handing someone their coffee, and my thighs are gonna chafe against my jeans and sting, and I’m gonna have to try not to get wet at the reminder that  _ you  _ did that. That you did that to me while you ate me out, with your--perfect--fucking--tongue--’

 

And the overwhelming feeling of pressure and release builds to a fever pitch inside Isabelle: she gasps when she feels herself fall over the precipice, and she moans long and loud with how the pleasure expands, balloons, almost  _ hurts _ with the force it climaxes through her. 

 

When she floats back down to reality, Eve is standing next to her, patiently waiting, and giggling a little to herself.

 

‘Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?’

 

Isabelle usually would preen or roll her eyes, but something about this compliment, now, makes her blush and feel shy. She’s more grateful than ever that she found Eve, who can accept every part of her. 

 

‘I am,’ Isabelle mumbles, kissing Eve on the corner of her lips. 

 

Eve turns her slightly so they’re properly facing each other, and Isabelle shivers when she feels Eve’s still-wet hands on her skin. 

 

‘How are you feeling?’ Eve asks, rubbing her thumbs back and forth in soothing arcs. 

 

‘Like I should get a haircut more often,’ Isabelle jokes, and loves the way Eve’s laugh fills the room.

 

\--

 

Isabelle wakes up at midnight to Eve crawling over her in bed. The room is pitch black with the blackout blinds drawn, so all Isabelle can sense is the sound of Eve moving, and the feeling of her sharp elbows.

 

‘Babe. What are you doing?’

 

‘Sorry I just-- I--’

 

‘Use your words.’

 

Eve pauses, and then hurriedly rushes out, ‘I was gonna give you surprise cunnilingus.’

 

The answer surprises Isabelle. But she rallies, and asks, ‘Right now? Why?’

 

‘Because… I’m such a good girlfriend?’

 

‘Eve.’

 

‘Ok, because I’m super horny all the time now you look like that, and I can’t stop touching you. Is that ok?’

 

Isabelle bites back a smile.

 

‘...I was gonna yell at you for waking me up. But, fine, carry on.’

 

\--

 

The next day, Eve is walking to work, loving the way her thighs burn. It’s going to be a bad kind of pain once the really tender parts scab over, but right now, she feels like she’s floating.

 

Her morning only gets better when she walks into Dromedar and sees KT behind the espresso machine.

 

‘Hey bootch!’ Eve calls out. 

 

KT laughs and waves at her. ‘Hey! Someday someone’s gonna mishear you, you know.’

 

It had only been KT’s second shift when she arrived to work with a bottle of Kombucha and hid it under the shelf next to the coffee grinder. Eve asked what it was, and found out KT’s affectionate nickname for her favourite drink, ‘the bootch.’ The nickname was inevitable.

 

It’s a busy afternoon, so they both hunker down for the onslaught of customers, trying to prepare as many fresh sandwiches as they can before they run out, as well as topping up the coffee grinder, ordering in more soy and oat milk as well as new takeaway cups, trying to find out where the hell the second frothing jug went, and calling Marit (the third barista) to ask her why she wasn’t at work on time (KT has to remind her that hangovers aren’t sufficient reason for tardiness).

 

Once the people start to come in, they barely have a minute to themselves, and soon Eve finds it’s the end of her shift. But Marit still hasn’t arrived, so it looks like she and KT are working overtime today.

 

‘This is some BS,’ KT sighs, wiping down the steam nozzle. ‘Not even pretending that this thing is a dick is gonna help.’

 

Eve watches her for a moment, as she pulls a freaky face and starts imitating a handjob on the steam nozzle for Eve’s amusement.

 

It works wonders -- Eve cracks up and says, ‘If the dicks you’re tugging are emitting steam, you’re doing a hell of a job.’

 

Soon they’re both in fits of giggles, both from the joke, and from being overworked all day. Eve remembers again why they’re both still here, and she makes a mental note to have a word with their manager about Marit. For now, she looks at the clock again, and makes a decision.

 

‘Listen,’ she says, ‘it’s nearly 3pm. I can cover the rest of Marit’s shift. You don’t need to stay on.’

 

KT shrugs and smiles back. ‘I could use the overtime.’

 

\--

 

They get an hour of relative quiet after the rush, and while they tidy up, they get a chance to talk.

 

‘So how was the haircut?’ KT asks, a sly smile on her face.

 

Eve tries not to blush from ear to ear, and says, ‘It was great. It is great. She looks amazing.’

 

‘OK but like I want pics.’

 

They take a brief break behind the counter while Eve shows her the silly selfie she took in the bathroom mirror that morning, Isabelle still fresh from the shower, her hair wet and curly around her face.

 

‘Damn,’ KT says, ‘I mean. Damn.’

 

Eve swells with pride and nods happily. ‘I know.’

 

‘It’s nearly two years, right?’ KT asks, resuming her task of mopping the floor.

 

‘Yeah,’ Eve says, still lost in the picture. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

 

‘I never actually asked how you guys met.’

 

‘Well,’ Eve laughs. ‘It was actually on a personals Instagram account.’

 

KT demands to know more, and is gleeful when she discovers that it took them six months to finally meet up.

 

‘Six months?!’ she says. ‘But like… how did you not just jump her bones immediately?’

 

Eve shrugs. She hasn’t yet told KT about being trans*. She knows there’s an extremely low chance that she’d treat her differently, she’s queer after all, but she’s still a little apprehensive always about revealing this part of herself.

 

‘I… I had some insecurities about being with her,’ Eve admits. ‘It’s -- well. I’ll just show you my original personals post.’

 

So, she finds it in her camera roll and hands it over to KT. Who doesn’t even blink after reading the first line. She just smiles wider and wider, and her big Disney-princess eyes are bright when she looks back at Eve and says, ‘ “Pan and Handsy, Seeking Forbidden Fruit”? Damn, girl, you know how to write a headline!’

 

Eve laughs along with her, monumentally relieved that she finally knows, now. And that it doesn’t make a difference to how KT sees her. She almost wants to run over and hug her in gratitude, but the moment isn’t right. She wants to talk more, first.

 

‘Yeah. It worked,’ Eve says, modestly. ‘And we finally got our shit together.’

 

‘And now you literally have your shit together,’ KT adds. ‘I mean, you live in the same place. All of your shit is together now.’ She makes her point by dropping the mop and clasping both hands.

 

Eve sighs and shakes her head. ‘I love you, but that was just awful.’

 

KT shrugs and says, ‘I stand by it,’ before she resumes cleaning. ‘Anyway. My point is. You live together now. It’s serious. Is there … you know … a question peeking over the horizon?’

 

Eve is counting up the receipts in the till and pauses to replay KT’s question in her head. It still makes no sense the second time around.

 

‘What are you talking about?’

 

‘Are you guys gonna get  _ married _ ?’ she says with a huff. ‘And join the rest of us in matrimonial bliss?’

 

‘I don’t know,’ Eve answers, honestly. They haven’t talked about it since Eve first arrived. ‘Isabelle needs to finish her degree. I need to get a portfolio together if I’m gonna apply for teaching jobs or film studies. We need to talk about kids. We need to figure out if we’re staying in Trondheim--’

 

‘Whoa!’ KT says, ‘It’s not as complicated as all that, I promise. I just wanted to know if I can cry a cute gay wedding sometime soon.’ 

 

She winks at Eve, letting her know she doesn’t need to talk about it, that she’s not prying. And Eve’s more thankful than ever to have her as a friend.

 

‘I think…’ Eve starts, and gathers her strength to continue. ‘I do want to marry her. I don’t know why I started with “I think,” I know for sure. But now’s not the right time to bring it up.’

 

‘That’s fair,’ KT says. ‘Have you got a ring?’

 

‘Hmm?’ Eve asks.

 

‘You don’t need to bring it up yet. But maybe it would be easier for you to, whenever you decide to, if you have a ring. Like, make it real for yourself first.’

 

She says it with such nonchalance, and yet she just shot through all of Eve’s excuses and worries. It’s such a practical solution.

 

‘I … yeah. That’s really … sensible.’

 

KT stops and looks up at Eve. ‘You know, you’ve been holding those receipts for quite a while. You need a hand?’

 

‘No,’ Eve says, dropping them back in the till and shutting it. ‘Sorry. I drifted off.’

 

They both stand there in silence for a moment. KT leans on the mop handle and bites her lip, wondering whether or not to push. She doesn’t need to though, Eve just continues:

 

‘My … mormor. Her ring is back at my parents’ house in Oslo. They, um. Well, they told me when I was younger it was meant for me to give to my fiancée. Back when…’

 

KT nods, understanding. ‘I’m guessing you haven’t talked to them about it, since.’

 

‘No,’ Eve says. ‘We don’t talk at all.’

 

KT sighs, seemingly unsurprised by that, and a little pained, too. She gives Eve a tentative smile, and says, ‘I mean. If they can’t accept you for who you are, you don’t owe them diddly squat. And they promised you that ring for your fiancée. In that sense, you haven’t actually changed a thing. The deal stands.’

 

Eve smiles back at her, and huffs. ‘You know, I’m not sure they’ll see it that way.’

 

KT seems to be treading carefully now, and says, ‘I don’t mean to overstep. I don’t know what your relationship is. I’m guessing not good. And though I wouldn’t encourage you to put yourself in a position of being vulnerable with them, I think you do have something to your advantage if you decide to talk to them again.’

 

The idea strikes a note of confusion in Eve. She looks up at KT, baffled. ‘What’s that?’

 

‘Guilt,’ she says. ‘They might not understand or accept you. But I can guarantee they feel guilty as hell. And so they should. Just… something to think about.’

 

She goes on mopping, and Eve can’t shake her words for the rest of the week.

 

\--

 

When Isabelle goes out to play basketball with the NTNU sports club the following Tuesday, Eve realises she has the house to herself for at least an hour. And she’s standing up at the windowsill, phone in hand, before she even realises she’s about to call the two people who raised her, but haven’t spoken to her in over a year. 

 

They checked in with her right before Isabelle left for Trondheim, her pappa asking if he should send some money, as some form of comfort, even though he continued to deadname and misgender her, despite her reminders.

 

But now, she knows KT has a point. And she doesn’t owe them a thing.

 

So, she presses the ‘call’ button before she can stop herself.

 

\--

 

‘Hallo?’

 

Eve doesn’t reply at once. She hasn’t heard her father’s voice in so long, she hardly knows how to start this conversation.

 

‘Hei, pappa.’

 

There’s a moment of silence, and then he speaks again:

 

‘Adam? Wow. Hvordan… hvordan har du det? You sound so girly.’

 

Eve tries not to get angry already. ‘Pappa. My name is Eve. Please call me that.’

 

A heavy sigh comes through the receiver. ‘Your mamma and I christened you Adam, and for good reason--’

 

‘Your pappa christened you Normann but that’s not what’s on your driving license, is it?’

 

He clears his throat in response, and sighs again. ‘I know we can’t agree on this. I’m sorry. It’s-- it’s hard for us, darling. We didn’t grow up with your kind of people. It just-- it just breaks our hearts to see you mutilate yourself--’

 

‘It’s not mutilation. It’s called confirmation surgery for a reason, pappa.’ Eve takes a breath to calm down, and then continues, ‘Anyway. I’m not calling about that. I wanted to speak to mamma if she’s there.’

 

‘Are you ok? Do you need money?’

 

‘No, I don’t need money,’ Eve says, feeling smaller than ever.

 

‘Has something happened?’

 

‘Yes. Not what you think, though. It’s a good thing.’

 

‘Ok. Let’s hear it, then.’

 

‘I’ve been with someone for the last two years. Nearly two years, I should say.’

 

‘What’s her name?’ 

 

Eve rolls her eyes at the assumption that it must be a woman. ‘Her name is Isabelle,’ she sighs.

 

‘Ah. Good. Well, we’d like to meet her someday.’

 

‘That’s partly why I’m calling,’ Eve explains. ‘She’s my partner and … I think, eventually, I’m going to propose to her. I want to ask mamma about mormor’s wedding ring.’

 

There’s a long pause. ‘Well, it’s not as simple as that,’ he says, ‘you know we’ll support you if you want to get married, but only if you’re getting married as a man marries a woman.’

 

‘Can you please put mamma on the line, dad?’

 

‘Ok, fine, I gather this is urgent,’ he says, calling his wife over.

 

After some mumbling and white noise, Eve hears her mamma’s voice.

 

‘Sweetheart?’

 

‘Hei mamma.’

 

‘Your pappa says you … you’re going to propose to your partner.’

 

‘Not right away. But, sometime. Yes. And I’d like mormor’s ring, like you said.’

 

The old promise hangs heavy on the line. Eve can imagine the silent conversation her parents are having with their eyes. For a fleeting moment she wonders if she and Isabelle will have that someday.

 

‘Your … your pappa and I will need to discuss it, I think, darling. Can you come by the house?’

 

Eve sighs. ‘Nei. I live in Trondheim now.’

 

The silence is powerful. Eve is scard for a moment that her mamma is about to get angry. Instead, she’s cut to the quick when she hears the sadness in her mamma’s voice:

 

‘...Trondheim? Darling, I-- I didn’t know you’d moved. When did that happen?’

 

‘About six months ago. I needed to move to be with Isabelle.’

 

Another silence.

 

‘Is that…’

 

‘My partner, yes.’

 

‘Mm,’ her mamma says. ‘Well, yes. Your pappa and I will need to discuss it--’

 

Eve had expected this. So, she rolls out the line she prepared with KT: ‘You said to me that whenever I wanted to propose to someone, I could have mormor’s wedding ring. Nothing has changed in that regard.’

 

She pauses before she delivers the final blow: ‘I’ve never asked anything of you. Not since well before my transition. But I’m asking you to make good on your promise.’

 

The line cuts off.

 

It’s only when Eve goes to bed later that night she realises, her mamma didn’t deadname her once.

 

\--

 

The next week, though, Eve’s phone rings at work. She recognises the number immediately.

 

‘Mamma?’ she says, hurriedly, running out to the back office.

 

‘Hei du,’ her mamma says on the other end. ‘Is this a good time?’

 

There are eleven people in a queue and Marit hasn’t shown up again, but, ‘Yeah, sure, mamma.’

 

‘How would you feel about your pappa and I making a visit to Trondheim? We, um. Well, we want to give you mormor’s ring, like you asked.’

 

\--

 

When Eve goes back inside, she runs up behind KT at the espresso machine and holds her in a bear hug for a good five minutes. She doesn’t even hear the customers’ complaints over the sound of her own voice whispering,  _ thank you, thank you, thank you _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really hurt to write Eve's deadname, I have to say. But things are looking up, for her and her relationship with her family <3
> 
> Thank you all for letting me write this fic. It means a lot. And your comments and feedback has been overwhelmingly sweet -- tusen takk for alt! <3


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